The Faculty Production
by Ladybug21
Summary: Much to the dismay of his staff, Dumbledore decides to have them put on a faculty production of Macbeth. What laughs or tears will come out of it... and what romances? Set during PoA, but focuses on the Hogwarts teachers. Something wicked this way comes!
1. Dramatis Personae

Many thanks to **Melora's Daughter** and **DailyProphetEditor**, for their willingness to chat at length with me about topics ranging from Shakespeare to _Harry Potter_. This story would never have been written without your encouragement.

I hereby disavow any present or future accusations that I am attempting to claim the rights to _Harry Potter_. (Or to Shakespeare, for that matter, but I don't think he'll try to sue me for copyright infringement.)

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The Faculty Production

1. Dramatis Personae

Some days, Severus Snape really hated his job.

Well, actually, most days Severus hated his job. After all, students really were the bane of his existence (albeit, they _were_ rather fun to terrorize). But things at Hogwarts always got just a bit too out-of-hand whenever Albus Dumbledore came up with some harebrained idea and expected his staff to follow along.

Severus sighed and reread for the umpteenth time the neon orange sign that was posted on the bulletin board in the staff room.

_Attention!_

_For the general enjoyment of all students and teachers at Hogwarts, I have decided that we shall do a faculty production. The play we shall be performing is _Macbeth_, by William Shakespeare. All teachers, ghosts, and poltergeists will be required to audition in the Headmaster's Office between the hours of 6 PM and 9 PM tonight._

_I look forward to seeing everyone there!_

_Albus_

Severus groaned inwardly.

'What's new today, Severus?' asked Pomona Sprout, peering over Severus's shoulder to see the staff bulletin board. Although Severus had not turned around, he could almost feel her frown. 'A school play?'

'Yes, a school play,' he replied grumpily. 'And not only that, a _faculty_ play.'

'I beg your pardon?'

Severus finally turned and faced his colleague, who, not to his surprise, looked stricken.

'Yes, a faculty play,' he repeated, sneering slightly. 'Which means, Pomona, you and I will be forced against our will to go before all of our students, and recite silly lines. Not to mention we might be requested to do a multitude of ridiculous dances and songs and other nonsensical things. I need not say how much embarrassment this could potentially cause everyone.'

'What?' Pomona's jaw dropped slightly as she imagined a multitude of rather awkward scenarios that all involved the teachers of Hogwarts doing some silly song-and-dance routine up on a stage while their students laughed uproariously from the audience. 'What kind of play is this, anyway?' she asked frantically, scanning the announcement. '_Macbeth_,' she read with a frown. 'What does that mean?'

'You've never heard of _Macbeth_?' Irma Pince, the school librarian, had joined the group of teachers and was staring at Severus, shocked. 'Or, as I suppose we should call it, "the Scottish play"? Now, really, Severus, it's a play that everyone should read – full of drama, and excitement, and magic…'

'Exactly all the things that our lives lack at Hogwarts,' sneered Severus, eliciting a snort of amusement from Pomona.

'Ooh, a faculty production!' exclaimed Rolanda Hooch, who had just entered the staff room and had immediately gone over to her colleagues to see what all the fuss was about.

'No need to sound so excited,' grumbled Pomona.

'_Macbeth_,' read Rolanda. 'Sounds… interesting. Everyone's going to get to be in it?'

'Apparently,' sighed Pomona. 'I don't think that Albus is going to let anyone slide on this. Minerva!'

Minerva McGonagall had been dozing off in a chair at the long table of the staff room, but jerked awake at the sound of her name. 'What?' she yawned, blinking several times in a rather feline manner.

'You'd better come read this if you haven't already – Albus is going to force us to be in a play.'

'Good for you,' mumbled Minerva, on the verge of dropping back off to sleep.

'Oh, wake up, Minerva,' scolded Pomona, crossing to the table and shooting a jet of water at Minerva's face from the end of her wand. Minerva jumped in her seat and hissed menacingly.

'In the name of Merlin, Pomona, if you _ever_ try to wake me up like that again, I'll…'

'Yes, yes, curse me into oblivion, I know,' said Pomona in a bored voice. 'Listen, what are we going to do?'

'About what?' asked Minerva, drying her glasses off on the edge of her robes.

'About the play!'

Minerva frowned. 'What play?'

'Stop being dense, Minerva, I just told you that Albus is requiring the faculty to audition for a school play.'

Minerva blinked. 'Oh, he's requiring us, is he? Well, I know I certainly have enough marking to take up any free time I might have had for this sort of nonsense. I for one refuse to partake in this madness.' Minerva stood up with the full intention of storming to her classroom so she could go back to sleep for a few minutes, but before she had taken two steps towards the door, the other teachers assembled stopped her.

'Oh, please Minerva, don't fool yourself into thinking you'll get out of this…'

'When was the last time any of us were able to weasel our way out of one of Albus's schemes?'

'Besides, Minerva, according to Irma it's "the Scottish play," so it looks as if you'll have to teach all of us how to speak with a good Scottish brogue, not to mention help us learn to play the bagpipes and stitch tartan kilts together…'

'Shut up, Severus,' muttered Minerva as she pushed through the crowd and nearly knocked over Remus Lupin as she sped through the staff room door.

'Good morning,' said Remus distractedly to his remaining colleagues as he watched Minerva stomp irritably down the hallway. 'Has something happened that I should know about?'

Everyone pointed to the bulletin. Remus read it quietly through once, and then smiled faintly.

'Well, this ought to be fun.'

'See, finally someone agrees with me!' exclaimed Rolanda, clapping Remus on the back and glaring at her colleagues with her hawk-like eyes. 'Come on, Pomona, Severus, this won't be as bad as you expect, I'm sure of it!'

'How much are you willing to bet?' muttered Severus under his breath.

'Severus, I'd stop worrying about it if I were you,' said Remus reasonably. 'I think it would probably be wisest if we all stopped fretting about this production and instead focused on our classes until this evening, agreed?'

There was a general mumble of consent from all the teachers, except for Severus who shot Remus a look of pure loathing.

'Excellent.' Remus poured some tea into a mug and took a sip, still smiling. 'See everyone at lunch, then?'

* * *

By lunchtime, all of the teachers at Hogwarts had seen Albus's luridly-coloured announcement, and everyone was reacting differently. Rolanda was delighted when she discovered that Aurora Sinistra, Charity Burbage, and Septima Vector were all at least as excited as she was; Rubeus Hagrid flushed red at the thought of acting and muttered something about hoping he didn't have too many lines; Filius Flitwick, always the optimist, took the whole matter in stride and declared that surely some staff bonding would come out of the experience; and Irma had spent the entire morning rereading the play in the library.

Even Sybill Trelawney had come down from her Tower, and could be heard prophesizing that the play was sure to be full of dark and dreadful things to anyone who would listen to her (which was very few people, as most of the staff had asked Irma what exactly the plot was about and already knew that the play encompassed a few murders, a case of madness, a suicide, and a rather bloody battle).

Minerva sighed as she sat down at the staff table next to Pomona, who was thoroughly engrossed in a conversation about Shakespeare with the Fat Friar.

'Ah, yes, his plays were all the rage when I was alive,' sighed the ghost nostalgically. 'I remember how much my friends and I loved the character of Friar Laurence in _Romeo and Juliet_ – absolutely tickled we were that the man had included a friar in one of his plays! I do hope that Dumbledore will agree to let us ghosts be in the play – I've heard that Nick was known for his dramatic performances in his day, he'd be pleased…'

'But there won't be any dance routines?' asked Pomona anxiously.

'Oh, no, of course not,' said the Friar, looking scandalised at the very thought. 'In some of Shakespeare's lighter comedies, maybe, but nothing as serious as _Macbeth_. I do believe there might be one dance for the witches, but I'm sure you'll be able to convince Dumbledore to cut it out – productions always cut scenes from Shakespeare, otherwise the plays would be five hours long, and that particular scene really isn't necessary anyway…'

'Oh good,' said Pomona, sitting back with a satisfied smile on her face.

'Don't tell me you're convinced that this is a good idea now,' said Minerva in disbelief.

'Well, it certainly seems as though it will be a lot less painful than I had thought,' Pomona replied calmly.

'Wonderful,' muttered Minerva to herself. 'It appears that the only people in this entire castle besides myself who have enough sense to be against this idea are Severus Snape and Sybill Trelawney, and _that _is not at all a comforting thought.'

* * *

The staff of Hogwarts filed into the Headmaster's Office promptly at 6 o'clock that evening and silently took a seat in the chairs that had appeared against the wall of the circular room. Rolanda, Charity, Aurora, and Septima were still all talking excitedly amongst themselves and kept asking an increasingly irritated Irma questions about the plot and the characters.

'Well, I know I want to go out for Lady Macbeth,' whispered Septima to Charity, who nodded in agreement. 'I mean, she's the catalyst for the whole plot, and she's the only real female part…'

'_And_ don't forget, she has to be rather intimidating and commanding,' Charity reminded her, 'which I _think_ I could handle…'

Severus snorted – he had never seen anyone less intimidating and commanding than Charity Burbage, who had the annoying tendency to burst into tears every time she heard the word 'Mudblood' uttered. As a matter of fact, Severus could not remember having seen any of his female colleagues acting in an intimidating and commanding manner… well, except for Rolanda, but only when she was getting really worked up over a Quidditch match. He glanced over to where the Fat Friar was talking animatedly to the Grey Lady, who looked most unimpressed with whatever he was saying, and, in a moment of schadenfreude, Severus hoped very much that the Grey Lady got the part of Lady Macbeth over any of his ridiculous colleagues.

In a flash of lavender robes, Albus Dumbledore burst into his office from the side door that lead to his chambers. Almost instantly, the four giggling witches fell silent.

'Excellent! I'm so glad to see that all of you took my notice seriously!' Albus beamed at his staff, apparently oblivious to the disgusted look on Argus Filch's face. 'As I'm sure you all are aware, I have decided that, for the sake of faculty bonding, as well as for the amusement of the students, we shall be putting on a faculty production of William Shakespeare's play _Macbeth_. Now, this play is known not only for its beautiful language and intense drama, but also for its enigmatic and fascinating characters – and therefore, casting must be done very carefully so as to achieve the greatest possible dramatic effect.'

'Sir?' Rolanda piped up, raising her hand in the air as if she had forgotten that she was no longer a student. 'Are you going to have us audition in front of the entire staff, or one by one in a less… exposed place?' A number of other teachers, obviously worried about their reputations, murmured their preference for the latter option.

'You will be auditioning in the middle of this room, Rolanda,' said Albus amidst a chorus of sighs and groans, 'but I assure you that none of the assembled will hear a word you say, including myself.'

Before Rolanda could even open her mouth to ask how _that_ would be possible, Albus waved his wand; from the corner of the room zoomed a wooden stool that positioned itself in the centre of the room, and on top of it landed the patched and frayed Sorting Hat.

'I have discussed the matter with the Hat,' explained Albus, 'and given it the play to read.' (Remus smiled in amusement as he imagined the Headmaster tearing pages out of a book and stuffing them into the bottom of the Sorting Hat for the Hat to peruse.) 'When your names are called, each of you will sit on the stool and place the Hat on your head. The Hat will then match your personality and your acting abilities to a role in the play. To make things fair, I will insist that the Hat's decision be final – the trading of roles would undoubtedly lead to many heated arguments and other such problems.'

Severus could have sworn that Albus's eyes had twinkled in the direction of Rolanda, Septima, Charity, and Aurora as he made this last statement.

'And so, without further ado, let the auditions begin! Aurora, would you like to go first?'

Minerva could not help but wonder exactly what the Hat was looking for. Each of her colleagues only spent a few seconds wearing the Hat before they rose from the stool, some looking a bit dazed, others looking relieved, Remus looking quite pensive. The ghosts had a few problems trying to get the Hat to stay on at first, and compromised by sticking their heads through its side. Peeves, on the other hand, spent his entire ten seconds on the stool wiggling his toes and sticking out his tongue in glee, and Minerva was quite sure he was mentally making suggestions to the Hat for the lyrics of the next Sorting's song (which she desperately hoped the Hat would have enough sense to ignore).

To her surprise, the person who spent the most time on the stool before the Hat gave him leave to go was Severus Snape – the hat took nearly a full half-minute to assess the Potion Master's abilities.

'You weren't using Occlumency, were you?' whispered Minerva as he threw himself into the chair next to her that Poppy Pomfrey had just vacated.

'Of course not,' snapped Severus, 'why on earth would I waste my time using Occlumency against the bloody Sorting Hat?'

Finally, it was Minerva's turn. Feeling peculiarly nervous, Minerva placed the Hat on her head and sat down on the wooden stool. She could not shake off the sensation that she was again eleven years old and being Sorted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…

'You're not the only one, of course,' said the Hat's small voice in her ear, 'nearly all of the other teachers have felt the exact same way about the situation. And no, I was not 'idly wasting my time chit-chatting with Severus Snape' when I took all that time to assess him.'

Minerva sighed impatiently – she had forgotten how irritating mind-reading hats could be.

'Oh, pull yourself together Miss McGonagall,' chided the Hat. 'And for goodness sake, no matter how much you order me to stop reading your mind, I can't very well cease and desist, you know that…'

Minerva could not remember ever having been so furious with a piece of headwear by the time she pulled the Sorting Hat off of her head a minute later.

The last person to put the Hat on was Albus Dumbledore himself. He sat with the Hat covering his eyes and a serene smile on his face for a full three minutes, and Minerva would not have been at all surprised if he was taking the time to discuss with the Hat every gritty detail of its monotonous life before he took it off. Holding the Hat by its tattered tip, Albus tapped the side of the Sorting Hat with his wand, and out of the bottom fell a long piece of parchment. No one moved as Albus carefully placed the Sorting Hat back on the shelves behind his desk. The Headmaster took a minute to read the cast list to himself, his mouth flickering into a smile every now and then. Finally, he cleared his throat and read out loud:

'_Macbeth_: Dramatis Personae

Duncan, king of Scotland – Albus Dumbledore

Malcolm, Duncan's oldest son – Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington

Donalbain, Duncan's second-oldest son – Cuthbert Binns

Banquo, a Scottish general – Remus Lupin

Fleance, Banquo's son – Septima Vector

Ghost of Banquo – Bloody Baron

Macduff, a Scottish lord – Filius Flitwick

Lady Macduff – Pomona Sprout

Macduff's son – Septima Vector

Lennox, a Scottish lord – Charity Burbage

Ross, a Scottish lord – Aurora Sinistra

Siward, a British general – Rubeus Hagrid

Young Siward – Septima Vector

Seyton, Macbeth's servant – Septima Vector

A doctor – Fat Friar

A sergeant – Septima Vector

A porter – Sybill Trelawney

Two murderers – Argus Filch & Peeves the Poltergeist

Three witches – Rolanda Hooch, Poppy Pomfrey & Irma Pince

Gentlewoman – Grey Lady'

Here Albus paused for a minute to build the suspense, but all eyes were already on the two teachers who had not yet been cast.

'Macbeth – Severus Snape

Lady Macbeth – Minerva McGonagall'


	2. Synopsis

For those of you who have not read _Macbeth_, a plot synopsis is embedded in the latter half of this chapter, so hopefully that will clear up some confusion. However, I still _highly_ recommend reading the play, as I will only be able to include bits and pieces of Shakespeare's beautiful language in the following chapters, and the work as a whole is astonishing.

I own nothing but the general plot of the fic.

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2. Synopsis

The Headmaster's Office was silent for a grand total of two seconds before it burst into a flurry of noise.

'Minerva and Severus,' chuckled Filius to Pomona, who was shaking her head in amusement. 'My, my, this is going to be interesting…'

'But it's not _fair_,' wailed Charity. 'Minerva didn't even _want_ to be in the play, why does _she _get the biggest role…'

'Why does _Septima_ get five parts?' growled Aurora. '_That_ doesn't seem at all fair…'

'Why do I have to play all _boys_?' complained Septima loudly. 'I wanted to be a _girl_ at the very least…'

'Filchy!' cackled Peeves, pounding the disgruntled caretaker on the back. 'Now we'll get to dance and sing on stage together, won't we?' He turned a somersault, peered at Filch through his legs, and blew a loud raspberry, his eyes glittering wickedly.

'I refuse to do this,' grumbled Filch, glaring at the poltergeist. 'I _refuse_ to go on stage with that fiend…'

'It looks like you may have a rebellion on your hands at any minute now, Professor,' said Remus quietly to Albus.

Severus, meanwhile, watched all of the goings-on from his chair, trying to decide how he felt about what had just happened. Yes, it was very annoying that he and Minerva, the most reluctant participants, had somehow ended up with the lead roles… but Severus could not help but feel just a wee bit flattered that, of all the teachers in the school, the Hat had chosen him – _him!_ – to step into the spotlight and play the heroic protagonist… or so he assumed from the title of the play, at least, as he had not had time to ask Irma what the play was about.

'Minerva, do you want to trade parts?' said Rolanda eagerly to her friend. 'I mean, I'm sure you'd be much better at being a Scottish witch than I would…'

'I wonder why _that_ would be?' said Minerva, sarcasm dripping from her voice. 'And feel free to take my part – I have no desire to waste my time memorising poetry.'

_Oh no, you don't_, thought Severus, narrowing his eyes. If he was going to be forced into playing Macbeth (and he had no doubt that Albus would find _some_ way of keeping everyone in their given roles), he was not going to have anyone but Minerva playing Lady Macbeth. Now that he thought about it, Minerva was the only one of his colleagues he would trust to be intimidating and commanding enough to play Lady Macbeth, since she fit that description readily enough in her every day life. A sideways glance at the Transfiguration professor's fierce expression confirmed this last thought for Severus.

'Now, Minerva,' said Poppy strictly, 'you know that Albus said we aren't supposed to change parts…'

'And what's to stop me, pray tell?' said Minerva menacingly, rising out of her chair to confront Poppy eye-to-eye.

'The requests of all of your colleagues?' supplied Albus, walking up to the two witches with a placid expression on his face. Severus smirked – he knew that Minerva would never say no to Albus if he asked her to keep the part. The old wizard had been Minerva's mentor since she was a student at Hogwarts herself, and over the long years they had known each other, her respect for him had grown until eventually she began to consider him as a sort of father figure.

Obviously Minerva had realised she could not say no to Albus either, for she sat back down angrily and threw her hands into the air in exasperation.

'Fine, then,' she snapped. 'But, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, mark my words – you'll pay for this one day, I'll make sure of that…'

'Excellent!' cried Albus, sounding far too delighted that his Deputy Headmistress was overtly threatening him. 'Now if you can convert your proposed wrath into your onstage desire to murder me, your job will be half done.'

'What?' Severus had joined the conversation, frowning.

'In the play,' explained Albus, 'my character is murdered by your character and Minerva's character so you can become the king and queen of Scotland. And, as Minerva is obviously already harbouring some ill will towards me, I was congratulating her on her speedy ability to get into character.' He winked cheerily at Severus.

Severus shut his eyes in dismay. _Damn that Hat_. So Macbeth was not the _pro_tagonist of the play, he was the _an_tagonist. Severus had been hoping that for once in his miserable and greasy life, he would get the chance to play a role admired and loved by all… but no, of _course_ not. He was stuck, as always, in the role of the despicable, unloved, power-hungry murderer. And what was more, Severus was going to have to murder _Dumbledore_ of all people – Dumbledore, who in real life had given him trust and a second start at life. The very thought of killing him, albeit in a play, made Severus feel sick.

'Well, you will have to congratulate both Minerva and myself for our speedy abilities to get _out _of character,' said Severus coldly. 'I, too, refuse to take my assigned role, and no amount of pleading and cajoling will allow me to change my mind.'

'You will both take and keep your assigned roles,' said Albus, his demeanour suddenly growing most frightening, 'or I will cancel next year's Quidditch season.'

The threat had its desired effect – both Severus and Minerva blanched and quickly looked down at the ground in resignation. Albus quickly reverted back to his usual cheery self, and winked at Poppy and Remus, who were trying not to laugh.

'I hate it when he does this to us,' muttered Severus.

'I know,' sighed Minerva. 'One of these days, we are really going to have to start acting like mature adults when it comes to Quidditch…'

'Excuse me!' called Albus over the crowd. 'Thank you. Now, as you all have by now realised, the casting decisions are final, so will everyone please pick up a script…' Albus waved his wand and the stool in the centre of the room waddled to stand beside the doorway, a stack of scripts immediately appearing on top of it. 'Rehearsals will begin tomorrow evening at eight o'clock, here in my office; I would like the whole cast to attend the first rehearsal, regardless of whether you are in the opening scenes or not. And now good night to you all.'

The teachers left the Headmaster's office in small groups, flipping through the scripts and muttering over their lines to each other as they went. Albus held the door open for everyone as they left, nodding and smiling at them.

Remus was trying his best not to start laughing. He watched Severus summon a script from across the room, read through a few lines, and then throw himself backwards in his chair with a miserable groan, his script covering his face. Minerva was still seated in her chair, sniffing in fury from time to time, her arms crossed stubbornly over her chest. As Remus walked towards the door, he gave her a reassuring smile before he collected a script for himself and quietly left the office.

Albus bade Remus a good night and Vanished the extra scripts from the top of the stool, closing the door to his office behind him as he did so. He raised his eyebrows at the two teachers still sitting in their chairs.

'Well, are the two of you planning to leave, or shall I offer you both a nightcap?' he asked.

Minerva started slightly, and quickly rose to her feet; Severus followed suite.

'I assume you have a very good reason for making us do all of this, Albus?' said Minerva with a sniff, picking up a script and flipping through it disdainfully.

'Yes, a reasonable explanation would be very much appreciated,' drawled Severus.

Albus winked. 'To get the two of you to stop bickering over Quidditch and start acting like adults around each other,' he said mischievously. 'Now off to bed with both of you!'

Scowling, both teachers filed out the door one after the other. Albus watched them go, still smiling. When the polished wooden door had shut, he sat at his desk in deep contemplation for a few seconds before picking up his own script and idly flipping through it. Then, quite suddenly, he began to chuckle.

'I daresay this will be an interesting experience, won't it?' he said, his twinkling eyes resting on the magnificent scarlet and gold phoenix perched demurely on a stand next to his desk. Fawkes, who had been feigning sleep the entire evening, opened one eye and trilled softly.

'Yes, I thought so, too,' said Albus as he stroked the phoenix fondly on the head, a smile still stretched across his face.

* * *

The staff room was filled with discussions of Shakespeare when Minerva entered it the next morning. Charity and Aurora were bombarding Irma with questions over their coffee, and Pomona and Filius were poring over a script together, taking notes in the margins of the pages. In fact, the only person in the room who did not seem to be engaged in some conversation concerning the Bard was Severus.

'You look particularly cheerful this morning,' said Minerva dryly, taking a seat next to the Potions Master.

'Speak for yourself,' grumbled Severus. He waved his hand at the surrounding professors. 'Look at them all… you'd think they'd been told they had just been awarded the Order of Merlin, rather than been forced into an especially nasty form of humiliation. I for one am not at all looking forward to reciting poetry in front of all of my students.'

Minerva sniffed in agreement, very glad that she had at least one ally. 'I'm wondering how they all had time to read their scripts – did none of them have any marking to do?'

'Well, of course not, silly,' snorted Rolanda, sitting down next to Minerva. 'Since when has Quidditch ever required paperwork?'

'And, thankfully, no one is ill or injured at the moment,' added Poppy, taking the chair on the other side of Rolanda. 'Which leaves me plenty of time for reading and such.'

'And I might add that you and Severus are notorious amongst your students for assigning the most papers, so you really shouldn't complain about having to read them all,' said Rolanda with a wicked grin. 'You should hear your Quidditch teams complaining about the workload you give them…'

Severus rolled his eyes, his long hair blocking his face from everyone's view except Minerva. Minerva forced herself not to smile at this reaction, and instead frowned at Rolanda. For some inexplicable reason, she found that she was rather irritated with her friends for having interrupted her conversation with Severus, but she shoved this thought to the back of her mind.

'I'm sorry to say this, Rolanda, but I believe the reason students come to Hogwarts is to further their knowledge of magic, and not to play school sports,' she snapped.

Rolanda snorted. 'This from the woman who refused to look the Head of Slytherin House in the face for an entire three weeks after Slytherin won the last Quidditch Cup. And I remember hearing Albus say that you were quite the Chaser when you were in school… captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, if I remember correctly?'

'Indeed she was,' said Poppy, nodding. 'I remember our whole House hero-worshipped you whenever you played Slytherin, and positively detested you whenever you played Ravenclaw…'

'Thank you, Poppy,' sniffed Minerva.

'But, back to the play,' said Rolanda quickly, earning her another eye-roll from Severus. 'It's rather important that the two of you read your lines before tonight, as you do have the two lead roles.'

'Although, actually, we're the first ones on stage,' Poppy pointed out, 'and if we're going in order of scenes, you two don't need to worry for quite some time…'

'Well, then, Poppy, I don't see why you need to scold us for our negligence right here and now,' hissed Severus suddenly, his voice in the menacing snarl he used to terrify his students. Poppy involuntarily jumped as though she had just been slapped, and mumbled an apology as Rolanda stared in bewilderment at Severus. Still shooting nervous glances at the Potions Master, the two witches quickly left the table in pursuit of coffee mugs.

'Thank you,' sighed Minerva, leaning back in her chair.

Severus raised an eyebrow. 'I thought they were _your_ friends,' he said pointedly.

'Which is exactly why they aren't afraid of me when I try to intimidate them. While _you_, on the other hand…' Minerva stopped, hoping that Severus realised she was not trying to imply that he had no friends at Hogwarts.

Severus shrugged. 'One of the many benefits of not getting too close to anyone around here,' he said. Then he rose to his feet and swept out of the staff room without another word.

* * *

Remus reached Dumbledore's office ten minutes early, and was not at all surprised to see that many of his colleagues had already arrived and were anxiously perusing their scripts, glancing up at the clock on the wall from time to time. Peeves floated by, chewing a wad of gum loudly; he glared at Remus as he floated by, as if daring him to make gum fly up his nose today. Remus shook his head in amusement, and watched a few of the former Headmasters feign sleep within their frames while sneaking occasional peeks at the assembled teachers. He winked at Fortescue, who had just opened one eye and glanced around the room; both of the portrait's eyes popped open in surprise at having been caught, and he quickly shut them and began to snore even louder.

Remus had forgotten how much he missed Hogwarts, with its moving staircases, its enchanted ceilings, and even nuisances like Peeves. It had been so long since he had felt accepted anywhere, and he knew that he would never have been able to express his gratitude to the other teachers for having invited him into their ranks so readily, werewolf or no.

Well, all of the other teachers except Severus. Remus sighed. He was trying to be friendly to Severus, trying to make him realise that the very memory of some of the things James and Sirius had done made Remus feel sick… but the hard-headed Potions Master seemed determined to ignore every attempt at reconciliation that Remus offered him. Remus glanced over to where the disgruntled professor sat, flipping through his script with a frown.

The only person who was not reading a script was Minerva McGonagall; she was instead reading a Transfiguration essay through the frames of her square glasses, a frown very similar to Severus's etched on her face. Professor McGonagall had always been Remus's favourite teacher at Hogwarts; she had done her utmost to ensure he felt welcome when he first arrived at the school, and even all these years later, Remus was still grateful for the few times she had invited him to her office for tea during his first year, simply so she could make sure that he was getting along well enough. Remus watched as his former professor scribbled a mark on the essay she had been reading, set it aside, and reluctantly picked up her script, her frown darkening as she stared at the title page. Smiling slightly, Remus crossed the room and took a seat next to the witch.

'Stop worrying, Professor,' he said gently, 'this won't be as painful as you think, I'm sure.'

'For the last time, Remus, I have not been your professor for over twenty years, and would therefore much prefer if you called me "Minerva" like everyone else does,' Minerva snapped. The look of alarm that appeared on Remus's face quickly made her regret her tone of voice. She sighed. 'I'm sorry that I'm so irritable, Remus. I suppose I'm just nervous – after all, it has been said that you can't teach an old Crup new tricks.'

Remus shrugged. 'Who knows? You might discover some completely unexpected things about yourself over the course of this production. I'm guessing you've never done much acting, no?'

Minerva shook her head.

'Well, then, who's to say you won't be brilliant at it?' The Transfiguration professor had always struck Remus as being the kind of person who could do anything if she set her mind to it. Minerva, however, still did not look convinced.

'So, how are you and Harry getting along?' she asked, tossing the script on top of her stack of essays.

Remus shook his head, smiling. 'He looks just like James,' he muttered. 'I'd heard people say that for years, and it's absolutely true. He reminds me more of Lily, though.'

Minerva nodded. 'He's a good boy, though heaven knows he's had his share of trouble.'

'What, does that mean he finds himself in trouble, or he gets himself in trouble?'

'Both,' sighed Minerva in mild exasperation, smiling slightly. 'Very much like his father in that respect, although he's not as much of a trickster as James and Sirius were…'

She stopped suddenly, an awkwardness hanging in the air at the mention of the escaped convict's name. After a moment, Minerva cleared her throat and went on in a business-like tone:

'Of course, he's found himself in a fair amount of trouble without asking for it… I assume you've heard about the whole matter with the Philosopher's Stone, and then the reopening of the Chamber of Secrets…'

'Naturally,' said Remus, nodding.

'And Sybill isn't helping matters any,' added Minerva scornfully. 'She's been reading Harry's death in her tea leaves and crystal balls every day since his very first Divination lesson.'

'Has she,' said Remus, frowning. 'Should someone tell Dumbledore about it?'

'No,' sniffed Minerva. 'Sybill Trelawney has been predicting the deaths of people around her ever since she was a student herself, and I cannot think of a single instance in which one of her death predictions has come true. I daresay Harry has nothing to worry about.'

'Excuse me!' called the deep voice of Albus Dumbledore above the chattering of his staff. 'If you could all clear the centre of the room, I believe it is time for our rehearsal to begin!'

'I'll talk to you later, Professor… Minerva, rather,' said Remus, correcting himself quickly. He touched Minerva's shoulder reassuringly as he stood; the Transfiguration professor smiled weakly at the werewolf before he made his way back to his seat. As he sat down, Remus happened to look up just in time to see Severus give him a glare that was, if possible, even more nasty than usual. Remus frowned slightly, wondering what he had done to earn a bit of extra loathing from Severus.

'Is everyone here? Excellent!' Albus stood next to his chair so that he could see the faces of everyone in the room. 'Now, before we begin blocking scenes, I'd like to ensure that everyone is familiar with the plot. I assume you all at least skimmed through your scripts last night?'

The teachers murmured a collective yes under their breaths. Minerva glanced sideways at Severus just in time to catch the similar glance he was sending her, and was relieved that at the very least she was not the only person not to have read through her script.

'Well, as a refresher for those of you who did not have time to grasp the plot in its full detail, and for those of you who were too preoccupied with marking to look at your scripts…' His eyes twinkled in Minerva's direction and she scowled, wondering for the umpteenth time how the Headmaster managed to notice _everything_ going on around him. 'I'd like to ask Irma to give us a brief summary of the plot.'

Irma seemed a bit startled at this decision, but stood up and cleared her throat.

'Well, the play begins at the end of a battle,' she began hesitantly. 'The Scots have just defeated the Norwegians, and the victorious generals Macbeth and Banquo – that being Severus and Remus – are crossing a heath alone…'

'Dare I enquire as to what happened to their army?' cut in Severus.

'_I _don't know,' said Irma, glaring at Severus. 'Perhaps they had already left for home…'

'Without their generals?' smirked Severus, obviously taking great pleasure in aggravating the librarian. 'Dear me, not a very reliable army, are they?'

'It's a plot device, for pity's sake, Severus!' snapped Irma. 'They _have_ to be alone because the next minute, the Weird Sisters appear before them.'

'How horrible,' sneered Severus as Irma swelled with rage at this third interruption. 'I simply can't stand their music.'

Minerva snorted with laughter, remembering an occurrence several years prior in which Severus had given a group of Hufflepuff first years detention for a week for singing the refrain from a particularly dreadful Christmas song by the Weird Sisters too loudly too many times. Poppy was obviously thinking of the same incident, her mouth twitching in amusement as she recalled trying to calm the hysterical first years down after Severus had told them off in his most threatening manner.

'What a pity,' said Albus tranquilly. 'I had rather hoped we could invite them to sing at our Christmas banquet next year, I rather like their new single. But, music aside, I think it would be a good idea if we allowed Irma to continue her plot summary uninterrupted, Severus.'

Severus scowled, but did not retort.

'Thank you, Albus,' said Irma, glowering at Severus. 'As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, three Seers who call themselves the Weird Sisters, and who are played by myself, Rolanda, and Poppy, appear before Macbeth and Banquo.'

'I knew it!' whispered Sybill to no one, her magnified eyes widening. 'I knew that I had been miscast as a drunken porter… The Inner Eye told me I would receive a role that would not reflect my unique abilities, and that I would be forced to watch others make a mockery of the subtle art of Divination…'

'The Weird Sisters address Macbeth as the Thane of Glamis, the Thane of Cawdor, and then the king-to-be of Scotland,' continued Irma loudly, ignoring Sybill's disgruntled whisperings, 'and they tell Banquo that his descendents will be kings of Scotland. But the instant Macbeth starts asking questions, they Apparate away…'

'Stupid question,' announced Rolanda, waving her hand in the air. 'What in the name of Merlin is a _thane_?'

'The Scottish equivalent of a baron,' replied Irma promptly. 'Now will you please let me get on with the story!' She cleared her throat.

'The only thing is, Macbeth is just the Thane of Glamis, and he does not understand why the Weird Sisters address him as the Thane of Cawdor, since the Thane of Cawdor is alive and had in fact turned traitor and joined the Norwegians in the battle. But the next minute King Duncan – that would be Albus, in real life – arrives and tells Macbeth that the Thane of Cawdor has been captured in battle and is going to be executed for treason, and that to reward Macbeth for his bravery in battle, he is being given control of Cawdor. So now Macbeth is the Thane…'

'So poor Banquo doesn't get anything?' laughed Remus.

'Albus!' shrieked Irma in frustration. 'I regret to say that if you want everyone to understand the plot, you'll just have to give them a synopsis yourself, as they all seem determined to not listen to me…' She sat down stubbornly, sniffing as she glared around at her colleagues.

'Very well,' sighed Albus, looking meaningfully at Remus, who immediately quelled his lip. 'For the sake of brevity, Macbeth's wife, known only as Lady Macbeth in the story, receives news about the Weird Sisters' prophecy, and immediately begins scheming. She convinces Macbeth to murder King Duncan, and they blame the murder on Duncan's guards.'

Severus raised his eyebrows – so Minerva was supposed to be more evil than him in this story? For some odd reason, it was a slightly comforting thought.

'Duncan's sons, Malcolm and Donalbain, flee the country to avoid possible assassination,' continued Albus, 'which seems to confirm that they are responsible for the murder of their father. However, one lord, Macduff, remains suspicious of Macbeth.

'Macbeth then arranges to have Banquo and his son murdered, so that Banquo's descendants will not become the kings of Scotland, like the witches have predicted. Banquo dies, but his son Fleance escapes, and Banquo's ghost then proceeds to haunt Macbeth during a party that Macbeth is hosting. Macbeth is, understandably, quite distressed about this, and decides to pay a visit to the Weird Sisters so he can learn more about what lies in store for him.

'When Macbeth finds the witches, they tell him three things: that he must beware Macduff, that no man born of a woman will be able to kill Macbeth, and that Macbeth will not be overthrown until Birnam Wood comes to Dunsinane Hill, the site of Macbeth's castle.'

'But that's impossible,' interjected Pomona. 'I mean, I suppose you _could_ move a wood with the right spells, if you _really_ needed to, but it's simply not possible to have a man not born from a woman…'

'Unless, of course, you have a _woman_ born from a woman,' pointed out Charity.

'What is this, Tolkien?' grumbled Severus under his breath.

'Patience, Pomona,' cried Albus. 'I assure you, everything will be explained in the end.' He waited for silence to descend once more over the room before going on:

'Macbeth, who now has firm evidence not to trust Macduff, has Macduff's wife and children killed.'

Pomona let out a small sigh at this mention of her role's sad fate; Severus stiffened ever so slightly in his chair. Albus alone of all assembled in the office noticed Minerva give a horrible involuntarily flinch.

'Macduff is, at the time, away in England, convincing the late King Duncan's elder son, Malcolm, to come back to England and retake the throne that is rightfully his. When he hears that his entire family has been killed by Macbeth, Macduff swears vengeance, and he and Malcolm raise an army to challenge Macbeth.

'Meanwhile, back in Scotland, the Macbeths are having some, er, rather large problems. The Scottish lords all hate Macbeth, the land has been under a curse of sorts ever since Macbeth took the crown, and, to top things off, Lady Macbeth has gone insane.'

'Wonderful,' muttered Minerva, casting her eyes towards the ceiling.

'Well, things only get worse when Malcolm's forces arrive,' said Albus cheerfully. 'All of the Scottish lords quickly defect from Macbeth's side, and Malcolm tells every soldier to cut a tree branch from Birnam Wood and march with it, to disguise the size of the English forces.'

'Horribly clever,' squeaked Filius, shaking his head admiringly. 'What we would try to solve with magic, Shakespeare solves with metaphor.'

'So Macbeth is overthrown?' asked Aurora. 'And Malcolm becomes king of Scotland?'

'Well, yes, but with all due credit, Macbeth puts up a good fight before Macduff kills him,' said Albus.

'You _still_ haven't explained how only a man not born of woman can kill Macbeth, Albus,' Pomona reminded him, frowning slightly.

'Ah, yes,' said Albus, smiling and nodding. 'Macbeth apparently did not know that Macduff was born through a Caesarean section.'

There was a pause.

'_That _doesn't count,' snorted Poppy.

'Well, that's how the play is written,' snapped Irma defensively. 'And it matches up well enough to the witches' prediction…'

'And besides, Poppy, everyone knows that predictions rarely work out the way they are stated, fortune-telling is such a fuzzy area of magic,' said Minerva, her nostrils flaring slightly.

'I beg your pardon,' whispered Sybill. 'Perhaps to those of you who do not have acute clairvoyant powers, the mystical realm of Divination may appear to be fuzzy, but…'

'Yes, yes, we all know,' snapped Minerva, 'the Inner Eye is so strong in some people that you will be able to predict what colour socks Albus will be wearing next Tuesday, is that it?'

'I can tell you that already, Minerva,' said Albus pleasantly. 'As no one has ever taken the time to get me any brightly-coloured socks, I regret to say that I have in my possession only white ones.'

'Irma!' said Septima loudly. 'No one ever said what happened to Lady Macbeth at the end of the play, do we find out?'

'Yes,' said Irma, frowning. 'I believe she kills herself.'

'You could have saved yourself a lot of time with the synopsis, by simply saying, "Everyone dies," you know,' sneered Severus.

'No, no,' said Irma distractedly, waving a hand impatiently in the air, 'that would work as a synopsis for _Hamlet _or _Othello_ or _Julius Caesar _as well.'

'Be that as it may, Irma, you might have noticed that between you and the Headmaster, your synopsis has taken up all the time we would otherwise have been rehearsing our lines,' responded Severus silkily.

Remus glanced at the clock on the wall; it was indeed almost nine o'clock.

'Well, best be gettin' back,' grunted Hagrid, who had till that point sat quietly in his chair with a look of concentration on his face as he attempted to keep up with the plot. 'Need to feed Fang an' all…' He rose to his feet and headed for the door; the other teachers glanced at each other and quickly decided to follow suite.

'Wait!' yelped Rolanda. 'We aren't doing any actual rehearsing tonight?'

'I'm afraid we have run out of time, Rolanda,' said Albus kindly, 'but I assure you we will certainly get to read some lines at our next rehearsal.'

'But I practiced!' wailed Rolanda. 'I spent all afternoon practicing, when I could have been doing other things…'

'Ooh, like what?' sniggered Septima.

'Shut up, Septima,' grumbled Rolanda. 'I suppose you'd much prefer to go back to your rooms and mark up a lovely load of Arithmancy papers, rather than stay here and recite Shakespeare…'

'No, I think that's much more of Minerva's idea of a fun evening,' said Septima innocently. 'I rarely ever assign long essays for Arithmancy.'

Minerva glared icily at the younger witch, and picked up her stack of essays.

'Well, at least I make sure that my students are actually learning something in class, Septima,' she snapped before turning and leaving the room huffily.

'_Touché_,' remarked Aurora to Septima as she passed by.

Severus had had enough of listening to his female colleagues, and swept out the door in a billow of black cape. Although he certainly was not looking forward to a few of his character's traits, he was still feeling oddly relieved that he was not playing THE most evil role in the play. No, that task would be left to saintly Minerva McGonagall, and Severus could not help but smile as he imagined an entire scene of Minerva trying to convince him to murder Dumbledore… perhaps he would have to read the script before the next rehearsal, after all.

* * *

Er, yeah, sorry for the Tolkien reference; I realize it's a bit unlikely that Sev would have read any fantasy books growing up, but the Macduff riddle never fails to put me in mind of _The_ _Lord of the Rings_... so please excuse that.


	3. Enter Three Witches

A very Happy New Year to all my readers! Hope you all have a great 2008!

As always, nothing is mine except the plot.

* * *

3. Enter Three Witches

Severus Snape was feeling pretty damn pleased with himself.

Not only had he read the first act of _Macbeth_, he had read the entire bloody script. Twice. And, although he would rather profess undying love to Gilderoy Lockhart than admit it, he had actually liked the play. More than liked it – he had become rather _excited_ about the prospect of performing it, and he was actually looking forward to the rehearsal that night.

It was rather comforting, really, to see that the most evil person in the script was not going to be Macbeth. Severus hated the idea of being type-cast as the most evil person at Hogwarts – he would be the first to admit that he certainly was not the most agreeable person ever to set foot inside the castle (and having to put up with Remus Lupin saying 'hello' to him every day was certainly not helping matters), but he truly had changed his ways, and if the bloody Sorting Hat couldn't see that, then the damn thing needed to be replaced, brains of the founders or no.

Although, he reasoned, the fact that he had reformed was the reason he was stuck in this whole position in the first place. Severus would have bet his life that the Dark Lord would rather kill each of his most loyal Death Eaters one by one in horribly painful ways than have them perform a play, and a Muggle one with horribly stereotyped witches at that. The thought of Bellatrix Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy trying to perform Shakespeare was enough to make Severus laugh out loud as he swept down the hallways towards the Great Hall for breakfast, which earned him several frightened glances from a nearby group of first years (no doubt under the impression that he was devising some new unthinkable method of punishing them).

No, Severus had snickered quite a bit at the fact that it was going to be Minerva's character who was raring to commit homicide. He wondered how she felt about the whole situation, especially the bit about wandering about in her nightgown in front of everyone at Hogwarts, trying to wash imaginary blood from her hands. Severus let out a small snort of laughter, and Pomona raised her eyebrows at him from across the breakfast table; Severus was quite glad at that moment that he was an accomplished Legilimens, as he got the distinct impression that Pomona would highly disapprove of his thinking about Minerva in her nightgown, albeit in a completely innocent way.

'Morning, Severus,' said Poppy, sitting down next to him. The Potions Master responded with a noncommittal noise and a slight nod. He frowned at the picture of Sirius Black blinking slowly back at him from the copy of the _Daily Prophet _that Filius was reading across the table. 'Oh, by the way, Albus wanted to talk to you up in his office… something about Remus and you needing to miss rehearsal tonight.'

Severus scowled and drained his coffee with a gulp, putting his mug back down on the table in none too gentle of a fashion. Cursing Remus Lupin and everyone who had ever been associated with him, Severus swept out of the room.

Damn it, he had actually _wanted_ to go to rehearsal that night! He had read his script, he had allowed himself to get all excited about the role, and then Lupin, curse him, had to go and ruin all that with his whole stupid werewolf syndrome. (Severus conveniently forgot to remind himself that Lupin had certainly not asked to become a werewolf – it was so much easier to remain angry at people when they at least appeared responsible for the trouble they caused.) It was just like being back at school, with Lupin and Black and especially that accursed Potter tormenting him and spoiling any bit of happiness he ever had…

Maybe that was the reason the bloody Sorting Hat had chosen him to play a murderer like Macbeth, thought Severus as he tore through a tapestry and down a corridor. Maybe it was trying to keep him in a state of perpetual guilt over the fact that Lily Potter, the only friend he had ever had, and the only person he had ever loved, had died because of him. Because, quite honestly, that was the only thing keeping him from Transfiguring Harry Potter, who was so like his father in every respect, into a side of raw meat and leaving him out for the Thestrals to eat.

But… perhaps that wasn't right. Severus stopped in his tracks and thought for a moment. He supposed perhaps he had had more friends than he had ever given himself credit for. Dumbledore, while not exactly the sort of friend Severus would invite over for tea and crumpets, was the only person Severus could trust to keep his deepest, darkest secrets, and was probably the only person who ever had and ever would trust Severus absolutely. Lucius Malfoy, as much as Severus hated to admit it, had always been fairly decent to him, and had even been courteous enough to lend Severus a hand when he had been going through some financially difficult times. The rest of the Hogwarts staff, although initially more than suspicious of the sinister, reserved newcomer in their midst, had slowly but surely grown to accept him; Pomona, Irma, and Poppy now always took the time to say hello to him in the corridors (unless he was clearly in a foul mood), Filius was as gracious to Severus as he always was to everyone else, and Rolanda had gone from being clearly apprehensive and guarded around Severus to treating him as casually and insensitively as she did everyone else. Once or twice, Severus could have sworn he had caught Septima and Charity whispering and giggling with each other as they watched him, only to have both of them pretend to be looking elsewhere the second he noticed him – Severus was not quite sure how he should react to this, and decided on pretending he hadn't noticed. And Sybill was just as bizarre around him as she was any of the other teachers, which Severus took to be a good sign, for lack of a better interpretation. Even Hagrid had begrudgingly extended his trust to the Potions Master, although Severus deeply suspected that this was due to Dumbledore's influence.

And then there was Minerva. Severus considered her to be the closest thing he had to a friend at Hogwarts, but he had never exactly figured out what the witch herself thought of _him_. When he had been as student, she had always impressed him with her obvious intelligence, her sharp wit, her absolute command of her classroom, and, most of all, her undiscriminating manner towards even students like the threadbare, downtrodden half-blood he had been. All that had changed when he had returned as a professor after his time as a Death Eater; Minerva had barely even acknowledged his presence, and when she did, it was with a thin-lipped, jerky nod that more than told him that she despised him for the things he had done.

Since that time, Severus had worked his hardest to win back the respect of the teacher he had so admired. And, although it had taken many long years, he was pleased to say that he and Minerva were now on perfectly amiable terms; they talked easily about curriculum and students, discussed current events without much tension, bickered shamelessly over the state of their Quidditch teams, even took the time to jokingly insult each other. For his part, Severus would call Minerva a friend. He was just not sure he would say the same of him.

And speaking of Minerva…

'I would have thought that you of all people would understand what an uncomfortable position this whole matter puts me in, Albus.'

Severus stopped with his hand on the handle of the door to the Headmaster's Office, jerked out of his thoughts by the sound of Minerva's voice. This certainly did not sound like the sort of conversation he was supposed to be listening in on… but leaving other people's business alone had never been one of Severus's strengths. He carefully leaned against the door, anxious not to miss anything.

'I'm sorry Minerva, but I simply cannot change things now,' sighed Dumbledore wearily. 'I made it quite clear that roles were not to be traded.'

Severus blinked in surprise. So this was about the play. Was Minerva still that set against playing an evil character? He would have to talk to her later about the meaning of the term 'acting,' if that was the case – whatever happened, Severus was determined not to be stuck on stage for long periods of time with Aurora or Charity or Septima overacting their far-too-sensitive hearts out.

'Besides,' continued Dumbledore, 'if the Hat has chosen you for a specific role, then it must be because either you are the only one capable of playing the role convincingly...' Severus inwardly seconded this hypothesis '…or else because you will be able to learn something about yourself throughout the process of playing the role. I'm hoping that everyone will be able to learn something through this project, other than how much fun theatre can be.'

Severus smirked as he imagined the look that must have appeared on Minerva's face at the suggestion that theatre was fun.

'It's only one scene, Albus,' said Minerva softly. 'Surely it can't matter that much?'

Severus frowned slightly. When was the last time anyone had heard Minerva McGonagall pleading? Surely this whole issue was over something greater than Minerva's unwillingness to parade about in front of the entire school in her nightgown? Severus smiled wickedly.

'That one scene, unfortunately, is essential to the audience's understanding of the extent to which the Macbeths will go to gain power,' said Dumbledore. 'Besides, the Sorting Hat has carefully edited out anything and everything that it deemed to be unnecessary. If it has chosen to leave that scene in, then there must be a good reason for it. I'm afraid you're just going to have to come to terms with the whole situation and make the most of it.'

Severus waited for the explosion.

'So that's it, is it, Albus,' sniffed Minerva. 'You're trying to use this whole play business to _make_ me remember things that I have worked for years to forget.'

'I started this whole play business with nothing of the sort in mind,' said Dumbledore delicately. 'Although, now that you yourself have brought the subject up, it might do you some good to take the time to remember, and actually let yourself grieve…'

'No,' said Minerva roughly.

'I would not say so if I did not believe it would help you,' insisted Dumbledore.

'Oh, and I suppose you're going to say next that you expect the same for Severus? That this play will provide him with the opportunity for some kind of miraculous healing process? Even if you do not care enough about me, think of how this whole play must be affecting _him_, and all the guilt he must be feeling every time he reads his lines…'

Severus was surprised, and even a little bit touched at this bit of thoughtfulness and insight on Minerva's part.

'You should know by now that I do care very much about you, Minerva,' said Dumbledore seriously. 'You know that ever since you arrived at Hogwarts, I have always had nothing but your safety and best interests at heart…'

'I see,' breathed Minerva furiously. 'So I suppose that's exactly why you waited six years before challenging Grindelwald, is it?'

An icy silence descended immediately upon the office. Severus waited for a few moments until it seemed that the tension was stretched to the point of breaking, and, upon hearing no further conversation, knocked on the door twice.

'Come in,' said Dumbledore in a slightly strained voice.

Severus opened the door and stopped in the doorway. Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, regarding his Deputy Headmistress with a very cool stare. Minerva, standing in the centre of the circular room, looked angrier than Severus had ever seen her – angry red blotches had appeared on her cheeks, her hands were balled into fists, and she was standing as though ready to spring at Dumbledore and attack him physically.

'Ah, Severus,' said Dumbledore, regaining some of his customary cheeriness as he turned towards his Potions professor. 'No doubt you received Poppy's reminder from me about our little monthly problem.'

Minerva stared at Severus for a moment, highly confused.

'Yes, Headmaster,' said Severus, who had decided that this might not be the best time to grow angry with Dumbledore for the fact that he, Severus, would have to miss that night's rehearsal.

'Hagrid was planning on making a trip into Diagon Alley this afternoon for a few items, and I thought I might as well see if you were running low on any supplies,' said Dumbledore.

'Three bags of lacewings, asphodel, and an extra skein of unicorn hair,' replied Severus promptly, reviewing the ingredients of the Wolfsbane potion in his mind.

'Excellent,' said Dumbledore as he finished scrawling the ingredients that Severus had listed down onto a scrap of parchment. 'And I thought I would take the opportunity to thank you again, Severus… I know you would probably much prefer to be at the rehearsal tonight, rather than brewing a potion, but both Remus and I appreciate it very much.'

Severus blinked, wondering for the umpteenth time how Dumbledore seemed to be able to read his thoughts without the use of Legilimency. He nodded.

'Well, that is all,' said Dumbledore brightly. 'Severus, I will see you later, and Minerva, I will see you tonight at the rehearsal?'

Minerva glared at him and swept out of the office without a backward glance. Severus followed her, and shot a last glance at Dumbledore as he turned to close the door. He had never seen the old wizard look so weary and fragile as Dumbledore looked at that moment… but then again, Severus reasoned to himself as he shut the door, a fight with Minerva McGonagall was probably enough to drain the energy out of anyone, even Albus Dumbledore.

* * *

Something had happened between Albus and Minerva.

That at least was dead obvious to Pomona. The two usually spent all of dinner discussing politics or the latest article in _Transfiguration Today_, but Minerva had refused to even make eye contact with her old mentor that night, despite the fact that she was sitting right next to him. Even now, as all of the professors wandered into the Headmaster's Office in small groups, Minerva had walked right past Albus without even a friendly nod, and sat down next to Pomona looking determinedly at the copy of the _Daily Prophet_ she was reading. Pomona noticed that Albus was still trying to catch Minerva's attention, and shook her head at the Headmaster, who sighed in resignation.

'As many of you have probably noticed, our Macbeth is not here tonight,' he said. 'Therefore, it seems we will be working on all of the scenes that do not involve Macbeth. Irma, as our resident dramaturge, would you like to take the floor?'

'Er, right,' said Irma, clearing her throat and stepping into the centre of the circle of chairs. 'Well, we might as well start from the beginning, and work our way through. Rolanda, Poppy, would you mind joining me out here?'

Rolanda practically sprang out of her seat, looking like nothing so much as an eager puppy. Poppy stood much more calmly and glanced about the circle, obviously nervous. Pomona gave her a cheery wink, and Poppy smiled hesitantly in return.

'Irma, I just realised, we never decided who was which witch,' Rolanda was saying excitedly. 'Can I be the first witch, please?'

'Er, all right,' said Irma, a bit taken aback at this excess of enthusiasm. 'Do you have a preference, Poppy?'

Poppy shrugged. 'Second, I guess.'

'Very well, I'll be the third witch,' said Irma. 'So, Rolanda, care to start us off?'

Rolanda beamed, and began to read her lines: 'When shall we three meet again / In thunder, lightning, or in rain?'

'Stop, STOP!' roared Irma, waving her hands in the air in distress. 'Rolanda, you're reading your lines completely wrong.'

'No I'm not!' retorted Rolanda. 'I'm reading exactly what it says on my script…'

'But you're saying them completely wrong! You're making them sound all sing-song, and it sounds dreadful, like you're reciting some silly nursery rhyme…'

'But it _rhymes_,' Rolanda pointed out. 'So unless you have some brilliant way of making rhyming lines sound like they don't rhyme…'

'You just can't accent the metre so much,' sighed Irma impatiently. 'You're punching out every other syllable, and it sounds just dreadful. Just pretend you're talking normally to somebody about Quidditch or something…'

'Merlin, this is going to take forever,' groaned Pomona to Minerva, who was still immersed in her magazine. Pomona had expected at least a derisive snort from her friend, but all that Minerva did was sniff and turn the page of her magazine rather violently. Pomona decided it would probably be best to leave the irritable witch alone for the time being, and instead watched the rest of the goings-on.

Irma quickly came to the conclusion that if she expected everything to be perfect the first rehearsal, nothing would be done; she therefore finally decided to let Rolanda do whatever she wanted. Pomona giggled at the relieved look on Irma's face when she had finally worked the first scene with the Weird Sisters through a few times and was free to move on to the next scene.

Pomona was quite surprised at what a good actress Septima was; the Herbology professor would be the first to admit that she was no expert, but Septima managed to deliver all of her lines with such a natural inflection that it certainly didn't sound like she was reading 400-year-old English. Albus, of course, was so much like Duncan in the first place that Pomona suspected he did not even really need to act his part. But when Nearly-Headless Nick opened his mouth to speak, Pomona had to stuff her fist into her mouth to keep from laughing – the ghost spoke his lines as if he was preaching some sort of fire-and-brimstone sermon, and gestured so furiously with his arms on every line that his head quivered to the point of falling off. She glanced over to see how Irma was reacting, and almost felt sorry for the poor witch when she saw the traumatised look on the Librarian's face.

'Looks like you're not the only one who's waiting for this rehearsal to end,' she muttered to Minerva. Minerva shot Pomona a stern look that made it quite clear she was in no mood for teasing. 'Oh, come on, Min, you have to admit that watching Irma looking as though she's about to faint is infinitely more interesting than sitting up in your room planning out tomorrow's syllabus…'

'Don't call me "Min",' snapped Minerva. 'And, unlike you, Pomona, I am not a sadist, and think it's quite horrid of the Headmaster to be putting us through all of this.'

Pomona shrugged. 'Well, at least we now have some idea of what the acting techniques of the 15th century were like.'

'Just what every good witch ought to know,' snarled Minerva through gritted teeth. Pomona was almost glad when Irma finally decided that enough was enough and dismissed the staff for the evening – she was most unsurprised to see that Minerva practically sprang to her feet and made a beeline straight for the exit, her paper folded crisply under one arm.

Pomona wove her way through the mass of chattering professors as they made their way towards the door of the office. She stopped in front of Dumbledore's desk and waited for the old wizard to look up and fold his hands politely.

'Good evening, Pomona.'

'I must say, Albus, I was very impressed by your performance tonight – you managed to act in quite a kingly manner, despite Nick's flailing.'

'Now, Pomona,' admonished the Headmaster, his eyes twinkling. 'Let us not be unkind – remember, the poor fellow has been dead for the past 500 years or so, and is perhaps not quite up-to-date on the theatrical conventions of the current century…'

'Yes, well, we can only hope that Irma will straighten him out shortly,' laughed Pomona. 'By the way, how does it feel to have two ghosts for sons?'

Albus raised an eyebrow. 'Old, but not quite dead yet. Septima was doing wonderfully, don't you think? It was always quite obvious that she had a head for numbers, but she's made it quite clear that she is equally adept with words…'

'You sound like a doting old grandfather, Albus, do you always talk about your former students this way?' teased Pomona.

'Not all of them, Pomona, though I'd say you have nothing to worry about. I seem to remember that you were always the cheerful, diligent, _quiet_ one in your group.'

'And speaking of my old group from school…' Pomona leaned her head in conspiratorially. 'What on earth have you done to Minerva? Cut her salary? Banned the Gryffindor Quidditch team? Forced her to lodge Gilderoy Lockhart in her quarters for the next week?'

'What a terrifying thought,' replied Albus pleasantly to the last of these queries. 'And, no, none of the above. Minerva and I had a slight, er, disagreement over the content of one of the scenes in the play earlier today.'

Pomona quickly ran through the list of scenes in her head, and sighed heavily. 'It's my scene, isn't it?'

'I regret to say that if you want to know anything more about the matter, you will have to ask Minerva,' said Albus delicately.

'Oh, come now, Albus, I may not brilliant on the same level, as you or even Minerva, but I'm not completely clueless, and she _has_ been my best friend for the past sixty-some-odd years.' Pomona stopped, frowning. 'And yes, I could see why that would upset her very much.'

'I know,' sighed Albus.

'But you aren't going to cut it, are you?' asked Pomona quickly, hoping she didn't sound too anxious.

'No.'

Pomona laughed in exasperation. 'I don't know whether I should be pleased or angry about that. Well, I'll leave this problem between you and Minerva, if you don't mind.'

'Of course,' said Albus with a nod.

'And I do hope you manage to resolve it soon,' added Pomona as she headed towards the door of the now-empty office. 'I can't recall having fought with Minerva before, but from what I've observed, it's not a very pleasant experience… besides, most everyone agrees that she is your "right-hand witch", so to speak.'

Albus laughed. 'Good night, Pomona.'

'Good night, Albus, Fawkes,' said Pomona, nodding politely to the phoenix and shutting the door behind her with a loud click.


	4. Interpretations

Alas, nothing in here is mine – neither the characters at hand, nor the dramatic interpretation they view.

* * *

4. Interpretations

It was an overcast and thoroughly gloomy day. The dark sky overhead threatened rain, and weak glints of sunlight were all that managed to trickle through the stubborn layer of silvery-gray clouds. A chilly wind rustled the treetops of the Forbidden Forest, making the tall pines bend and hiss. The weather in general seemed to have gone into a moody rebellion against the bright and cheerful days that had graced Hogwarts of late.

_All too appropriate_, thought Remus as he sat at his desk, his mood mirroring the clouds outside. The days preceding his transformations always felt especially grim, and this day was no exception. Instead of eating a delicious feast and going to rehearsal that evening, Remus would be locked inside his office, waiting for the dreadful moment when the moonlight would seep through his window and the itching would begin on his hands, spreading over his body as coarse hair forced its way out of his skin…

_And it's even Hallowe'en_, thought Remus with a mirthless smile, regretting even more the fact that he would be missing the feast. Whatever higher powers existed had a very twisted sense of humour.

A sudden loud banging jolted Remus out of his disgruntled thoughts, and he glanced unconcernedly at the Grindylow gnashing its teeth at him from behind the walls of its glass tank.

'Oh, quiet, you,' he said, half to the Grindylow, and half to the whining voices in his head. Remus knew he should be grateful that at least now there was an antidote of sorts to being a werewolf… which reminded him, Severus hadn't given him the potion that morning at breakfast. Remus frowned. He certainly hoped that Severus would be mature enough to realize that he, Remus, had had no idea that Neville Longbottom's Boggart would take the form of the sinister Potions Master, nor that the story about the Boggart Snape dressed in Augusta Longbottom's clothes would spread throughout the school as quickly as it had…

Remus shook his head and put his feet up onto his desk, pulling his script out of his desk drawer as he did so. He really was feeling in far too sour of a mood to deal with school work, but Remus realized that doing _nothing _would leave him alone with his thoughts. Frowning slightly, he thumbed through it.

'So foul and fair a day I have not seen,' he muttered to himself, marvelling at the accuracy of the quote and how it fit his mood before realising that it was Macbeth's line, not Banquo's. Remus smirked slightly, noting that however foul he felt that day, Severus usually swept about looking as though his day was about ten times fouler.

The sound of footsteps outside his door made Remus place the script onto his desk, swing his feet back down to the ground and walk quickly to the door. It was not a usual occurrence that Remus would _want_ to see Severus Snape, but when said Snape happened to be bearing a rather important potion, it made any nasty glares and snide remarks worth the while. Remus opened the door and peered around the sill, expecting to see the bat-like figure of the Potions Master billowing up the hallway towards him.

'Harry?'

Harry Potter, for that was who it was, turned in surprise. _By_ _Merlin, he looks like James_, thought Remus for the umpteenth time. He pushed the door open a bit further, frowning at the melancholy look on Harry's face. 'What are you doing? Where are Ron and Hermione?'

Harry's shoulders tensed slightly. 'Hogsmeade,' he answered, shrugging slightly and jamming his hands into his pockets in an attempt to be casual. Remus caught himself from smiling – James had had the exact same habit that always betrayed whatever annoyance he was trying to mask.

'Ah.' Remus thought for a moment. He knew he should probably go study his lines… but he would have all evening to himself, and he knew how it felt to be all alone, 'abandoned' by his friends, one could almost say… 'Why don't you come in? I've just taken delivery of a Grindylow for our next lesson…'

He would worry about Severus later.

* * *

Halfway across the school, another Hogwarts professor was also examining a recent delivery.

'Oh dear,' sighed Charity, who was seated on the floor of her classroom, reading the television manual over for the umpteenth time to no avail.

It had seemed like such a good idea at the time. Charity had been to a Muggle cinema exactly once in her life, but she had absolutely loved it. In retrospect, that is. She had gone with the Muggle-born boy she was dating at the time, and had spent most of the evening with her face buried in his shoulder, sneaking peeks at the screen, torn between excitement and horror. The movie was so _real_… and when said realism involved psychos murdering women in hotel room showers, it was enough to give Charity nightmares for the next month.

At any rate, after finally convincing herself that the shower was safe, Charity came to appreciate the realism of the silver screen, and had always harboured a secret yearning to watch more Muggle films. So when she realised that _someone_ out there had to have made a movie of _Macbeth_, Charity had wasted no time in ordering a television through a friend who lived in a Muggle neighbourhood in London, and purchasing through the mail videocassettes of whatever versions of the Scottish play she could find.

She had, however, forgotten one essential detail: Electronics did not work around the Hogwarts grounds.

'Oh _dear_,' repeated Charity, dangling the plug at the end of the television cord in front of her downcast face. Would any of the students know a way to make a television work without electricity? Charity was fairly certain there had to be a way… perhaps replacing the electronic aspects with magical ones? She sighed. She simply didn't know enough about how a television worked. Of course she had read all about televisions and how they functioned, but actually putting the theory into practice was more difficult than she had anticipated. Maybe she would ask Hermione Granger if she had any experience with dismantling and reconstructing large and complicated electronics… the girl _seemed_ to know everything about everything (and why she was taking Charity's class was beyond even the Muggle Studies professor herself).

Charity sighed again and dropped the plug unceremoniously on the floor. Pushing herself to her feet and wrapping her cloak about her (it _was_ rather drafty in the corridors), she pushed her classroom door open and set out in search of any Muggle-born or half-blood student she could get her hands on.

The Entrance Hall and Great Hall were nearly deserted, with only a few younger students milling about, their whispers echoing in the immense silence. Charity frowned. If she were Hermione Granger, where would she be? The Library, Charity decided finally. It seemed like a very Hermione-ish place to spend a Saturday afternoon, and it was certainly easier to access than the Gryffindor common room.

Halfway up a staircase to the Library, she nearly collided with Irma.

'Oh! Sorry, Irma,' Charity said breathlessly as Irma grabbed the railing of the stairwell to maintain her balance, the large stack of books in her arms teetering precariously. 'You haven't seen Hermione Granger anywhere, have you?'

'Hermione Granger?' Irma frowned. 'Isn't she at Hogsmeade?'

_Hogsmeade_. Of course. Charity could have slapped herself. 'I'd completely forgotten.'

'She'll be back soon enough,' said Irma placidly, continuing down the stairs with Charity trailing behind. 'You're not going to tell me she's forgotten to do an assignment, are you?'

'No, no,' said Charity. 'I actually was going to ask for her help.'

'Oh?' Irma raised an eyebrow. 'In what, may I ask?'

'Er,' mumbled Charity. Now that it came to explaining her predicament, she felt even more foolish. 'Well, I've ordered a television, but I can't figure out how to make it work off magic, rather than electricity… oh, bugger, you probably don't even know what electricity is, do you?'

'On the contrary,' said Irma conversationally, 'I took an English literature course at Cambridge a few years after I left Hogwarts, and had to live like a Muggle. In a dormitory.' She wrinkled her nose and laughed. 'To this day I haven't decided if it was mostly fun or mostly horrible.'

She turned to face Charity, who had stopped in her tracks with her mouth hanging open slightly. 'You did?' the Muggle Studies professor asked in amazement when she finally regained her ability to speak.

'Oh, don't be so shocked, Charity – how else would I have known as much about the Bard as I do?' snapped Irma. 'Now, let me look at this television, I want to have a go at enchanting it.'

* * *

Half an hour later, Irma had finished skim-reading through the manual and was seated cross-legged on the top of one of the front row desks of Charity's classroom. Charity herself was dangling her legs off the edge of another desk, noting dryly to herself that in doing so she was breaking one of the foremost rules of her classroom.

'Well, perhaps you should forget the screen part of the television,' Irma said. 'We could dismantle the… what was it called, the RVC?'

'VCR,' corrected Charity automatically.

'We could dismantle the VCR, then, go to a large room with a blank wall, and project the film onto it, like a slide projector.'

'Or a cinema screen,' added Charity, a grin spreading slowly across her face. 'Irma, that's brilliant. Can we use the Library?'

'Of course not!' Irma puffed herself up indignantly. 'The Library is a place where students are supposed to be able to work _quietly_. It is a haven for _books_, and I will _not_ allow any distractions, especially one that…'

'All right, all right, point taken,' laughed Charity. She thought. 'Hmm… Albus wouldn't mind if we used the staff room, would he?'

Irma rolled her eyes. 'Albus wouldn't mind if Ludo Bagman flew into his office on a Firebolt and began pelting Bludgers at all of the portraits on the walls. Bring that videocassette and the television along,' she added, tucking the manual under her arm.

As they walked down the hallways, levitating the television along before them, Charity animatedly regurgitated everything she knew about the mechanical workings of a videocassette.

'Well, essentially there's a magnetic tape inside there, like film for a normal camera that takes photographs, and it's passed slowly over the playback and recording heads of the VCR… so I suppose if we could take those parts of the VCR out and work them by magic…'

'Then it should work,' said Irma, frowning in thought. 'We'll see.'

'What in Merlin's name is going on here?' Poppy had just emerged from around the corner and was staring in utter confusion at the floating television.

'Charity is trying to get a television to work, and we are heading towards the staff room to set it up in whatever format we can,' replied Irma promptly.

Poppy shot the pair of would-be mechanics a doubtful look. 'I think you'd both better come in and have your heads checked for Befuddlement Charms before dinner,' she replied. 'Unless this is some kind of Hallowe'en prank?' She threw up her hands with a sigh of exasperation. 'I'll stay out of it, whatever you two are up to. Just come and get me if you seriously injure yourself, and do try to keep the staff room in one piece unless you want Argus to come after you with a vengeance.' And with that she turned on her heel and left.

'What exactly are you going to be playing on this?' asked Irma as they approached the staff room. 'I assume it's for educational purposes?'

'Well, no,' Charity admitted, blushing pink. 'I actually was just curious to see what filmed versions of _Macbeth_ would be like.'

Irma let out a squeal of delight (or as close to a squeal of delight as the stern Librarian could manage) and beamed at Charity.

'Charity Burbage, if I were Minister of Magic, I would award you an Order of Merlin for that ingenious idea.'

'If you wasted your Orders of Merlin on frivolous matters like filmed versions of plays by dead Muggle poets, no one would appoint you Minister in the first place,' Charity pointed out.

'Well, hurry up!' barked Irma. 'I want to get this bloody contraption up and running as soon as humanly possible!' And with that, she sped into the staff room, landed the VCR on the floor, neatly split it open with a wave of her wand, and identified and removed the playback and recording heads before Charity could even collect her thoughts.

'What was that all about?' she asked in amused bewilderment as Irma consulted the manual and tapped the various mechanical parts strewn about her so that they rose up into the air.

'Incentive is a very powerful thing, Charity,' said Irma simply. 'Hmm… light, that's what we're missing.' She conjured a candle out of thin air and waved her wand. The VCR parts revolving in the air whirred and a large box of light appeared on the opposite wall.

'How on earth did you know to do that?' asked Charity, impressed.

'Magic,' said Irma with a devious grin. Then she shrugged. 'No idea, actually, I'm making this up as I go. Hand me the videocassette, will you?'

Charity nodded dumbly and slid the videocassette out of its package. Irma tapped it so that it zoomed in amongst the VCR parts, which then began to configure themselves around the videocassette. Charity cheered when a picture slid onto the screen.

'This is brilliant!' she exclaimed, flinging herself onto one of the staff room couches. Irma, suppressing a satisfied grin, dimmed the torches on the walls with a slow wave of her wand and calmly sat down next to Charity, as if trying to contrast the younger witch's exuberance with restrained dignity. The next second she sat up, frowning.

'_This_ isn't _Macbeth_,' she said suspiciously, eyeing the words that had just appeared on the screen.

'Are you sure?' asked Charity, who was still watching the film in utter fascination. 'It looks Shakespearean enough to me.'

'No, no, no,' muttered Irma, rubbing her forehead with her hand. 'For goodness sake, what is this? I know I've studied it…'

'Oh Irma, just watch and relax, will you?' snapped Charity, punching her friend lightly on the shoulder. 'You'll take all the fun out of it for me.' Irma made a disgruntled face but said nothing more until the title of the film appeared on the screen.

'_Much Ado About Nothing_,' declared Irma somewhat triumphantly. 'There, I _knew_ I'd studied it before!'

'Well, you were certainly right about it not being _Macbeth_,' said Charity. 'But I probably could have told you that. It didn't seem filled with enough gloom.'

'Because it's a _comedy_,' explained Irma impatiently. 'People don't go about killing each other in comedies. It's not a very funny thing to do.'

Charity glanced at Irma, and then began to roar with laughter at the sheer obviousness of this statement.

The door to the staff room opened, and in walked Rolanda and Septima, heatedly arguing over whether or not England would make the Quidditch World Cup the next year. Rolanda blinked her hawk-like eyes several times in rapid succession as she entered the darkened room.

'What happened to the light?' she exclaimed.

'We're watching a movie!' announced Charity happily. 'Sit down!'

'A… what?' asked Septima, but her eyes widened at the handsome African-American man who had just appeared on the screen momentarily. 'Ooh!' She sat down on the couch with a loud thump. Irma rolled her eyes.

Rolanda opened her mouth to protest, and then did a double-take at the screen. 'Was that _Gilderoy Lockhart_?' she asked incredulously, still staring at the screen and moving as if entranced around the side of the couch.

Septima blinked. 'Blimey, I think it was!' she said breathlessly as Irma snorted loudly.

'Oh, _please_,' she sniffed. 'You really think that Gilderoy Lockhart would… good heavens!'

'It could be his twin brother,' admitted Charity as the blond man who so resembled the pompous former Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher reappeared on the screen.

'What on earth is going on in here?' snapped Minerva. All heads turned towards the Transfiguration professor, who had just nearly walked into the formerly-Boggart-infested wardrobe due to the poor lighting.

'Min, come look at this bloke!' said Rolanda eagerly without looking away from the screen, a slightly wicked grin spreading across her face. 'Remind you of anyone?'

Minerva glanced at the square of light on the wall, and immediately closed her eyes in dismay. 'Kindly do NOT show me video clips of that air-headed nincompoop. By Merlin, if I'd known he was going to invade even the Muggle film industry… does his ego know ANY boundaries…'

'Stop ranting, Minerva,' ordered Irma in her strict librarian voice. 'The credits just said it's some man named Kenneth Branagh, so why don't you sit down and enjoy the film?'

'Sorry,' began Minerva, but Irma cut her off.

'It's _Shakespeare_, Minerva, and I think it would help your ability to handle the language if you'd sit down and watch a bit. Just a bit,' she reiterated as Minerva opened her mouth to argue. And Minerva had no choice but to seat herself rigidly next to Rolanda, who (to Minerva's extreme annoyance) had her feet up on the coffee table.

* * *

To Minerva's shock, it was much harder to leave once she had started watching the movie. She became so caught up in the plot that she barely even noticed Rolanda and Septima squabbling over the large bucket of popcorn one of the house elves had brought up from the kitchen at Charity's request. Charity, meanwhile, was behaving as though she had been programmed by the film industry to provide the perfect reaction at the right moment – she gasped and laughed and sighed with each plot twist, and hit Irma sharply on the arm whenever Irma opened her mouth to provide additional commentary or reveal what was going to happen next. Minerva surprised herself when, by the end of the film, she felt tears glistening at the corners of her eyes. Curious, she thought to herself as she surreptitiously nudged her square glasses up and wiped the tears away.

'That was lovely,' sighed Septima, who by this time was lying with her head on Rolanda's shoulder and her legs practically in Charity's lap.

'Wouldn't it be lovely if romance really worked out like that, in the real world?' sniffed Charity, dabbing openly at her eyes with a handkerchief.

'What, you'd really want that much bickering and squabbling before finally admitting you actually liked the bloke?' Rolanda joked. (From years of conversation, Minerva could tell that Rolanda's attempts to act blasé were a cover for how emotional the film had really made her feel, as Rolanda tried to pretend she never got emotional about anything except Quidditch.) 'Not to mention that whole matter of being accused of unfaithfulness and having your perfectly lovely wedding be ruined by your blithering fiancé…'

'Not _that _part,' said Charity. 'More the part about hidden romance, about love conquering all pride, and even love being able to bring supposedly-dead people back to life… it's just lovely, don't you think?'

'Yes,' said Minerva distantly. The other four witches stared at her.

'Doth mine ears deceive me?' Rolanda assumed an expression of mock bewilderment, her yellow eyes opening wide. 'Is our Minerva getting sentimental about romance?'

Minerva's beady eyes immediately focused back into the present and her head whipped around towards Rolanda.

'Not at all,' she said curtly. 'But I think even _I_ am allowed to enjoy a good story, isn't that right, Irma?'

'Whatever you say, Minerva,' replied Irma automatically as she read the back of the VCR cover using a light from the end of her wand.

'Perhaps Minerva's got a secret Benedick,' smirked Septima, her eyes twinkling wickedly.

'Yes…' Rolanda giggled deviously. 'Perhaps that _would_ explain why exactly she's been so furious with Albus lately…'

Minerva's nostrils flared, and she sprang to her feet so quickly that she knocked over the remains of the popcorn.

'Whatever goes on between Albus and myself is absolutely _none_ of your business,' she snapped, 'but I can assure you, Rolanda, that it is not at all romantic, and I'm willing to take Veritaserum to prove that point.'

'We wouldn't tease you much,' insisted Rolanda with feigned innocence. 'You'd make a rather lovely couple, really, all intellectual and whatnot.'

Minerva's response was to leave the room in a burst of fury reminiscent of a storm cloud, slamming the door behind her with such a bang that the door to the wardrobe cracked ajar from the shock impact that shuddered through the wall.

'You're terrible, Ro,' sighed Charity.

'Oh, stop being so proper,' scolded Septima. 'Minerva needs to be shaken out of her Deputy Headmistress persona once in a while.'

'I think Charity's right, though,' said Irma seriously. 'Minerva's been on edge for the last few days, and I really don't think it's a good idea to aggravate her further. Remember last year, when she started to have at least one panic attack a day?'

'Well there was a bloody _Basilisk_ gallivanting about the school, Irma,' said Septima, exasperated.

'Not to mention Gilderoy Lockhart,' added Rolanda, and she and Septima giggled girlishly.

'Well, fine, test her nerves,' snapped Irma. 'But you'll have to explain to Poppy why she's so stressed when she ends up in the Hospital Wing from making herself ill. It's happened in the past, and she's not as young as you think she is.'

Septima and Rolanda stopped giggling at this sobering thought as Charity shot them a satisfied 'I told you so' look.

'Oh,' sighed Rolanda, rather put-out. 'Well, then…'

'Can we watch another movie?' piped in Septima randomly. 'Do you have one of _Macbeth_?'

'That's the only one I have at the moment,' said Irma regretfully, a slight smile playing over her stern mouth at her peers' enthusiasm. 'But I'll try to procure another soon.'

'I liked that woman,' proclaimed Septima, leaving her friends to wonder for a moment or two what in Merlin's name she was referring to. 'She really seemed like exactly how Beatrice should have been.'

'She's a good actress,' Irma explained. 'Apparently won several awards for this type of thing, if this videocassette case is to be believed. Well, at least now you have a model, something to which you can aspire.'

Septima looked at her blankly. Irma sighed, straightened up a bit, and began one of her Librarian-esque lectures.

'What I mean is that you now have seen what a truly exceptional actor or actress can do, and you should strive to make all of your characters as multi-dimensional and realistic as the actors in this film have made their characters. That's especially true for you, Septima, since you play so many different characters.'

'So you're saying I have to make Seyton different from Young Siward different from Macduff's son different from Fleance different from the sergeant?' asked Septima, revelation flickering slowly to life behind her eyes.

'Er, yes,' said Irma, who had forgotten how many roles the poor Arithmancy professor was covering.

'Brilliant!' squealed Septima, clapping her hands enthusiastically for a moment. 'So, how?'

'How, what?' repeated Irma blankly.

'How do I make them all different?' repeated Septima. 'Besides saying different lines for each, of course'

'Oh.' Irma pursed her lips. 'Hm. I hadn't thought about that, I never took an acting course at Cambridge.'

'Give them all funny voices,' suggested Rolanda. 'All _different_ funny voices.'

'No, no, no,' snapped Irma. 'You can't play tragic characters like you would Dogberry and Verges.'

'Well, that's my only suggestion!' complained Rolanda loudly. 'Does anyone ELSE have any suggestions?'

'Change the way you walk,' said the voice of Severus Snape quietly. In a flash, the lights came on in the staff room as Irma, Charity, and Rolanda stood up quickly and turned around, spilling Septima onto the floor along with the rest of the popcorn. 'The stoop of your shoulders, the length of your stride. Centre your weight in different parts of your body – your chest, your navel, your knees. Slouch, drag yourself from place to place, or move nimbly on your feet. Speak your lines slower or faster; add or subtract breath to your voice, and make it higher or lower. Do you stand near to a person when speaking? Do you look them in the eye when you speak, or even face them? You need to know all of those things… and those are only the external ones that the audience sees.'

'Severus!' Charity exclaimed in a slightly-too-hearty voice as the Potions master moved slowly into the room from the doorway. 'Sorry, didn't realise you'd just come in… startled us…'

'That's a lot to think about,' breathed Septima in awe as she rose to her feet. 'Goodness, Severus, have _you_ taken theatre courses at Cambridge, then?'

Severus chuckled a bit, a noise that made the four witches move a bit closer together. 'When your life is at stake, you have to be a good actor. I have no formal training, Septima, only much practice.' He sat down calmly in a chair at the staff table and began writing a letter nonchalantly. The witches glanced awkwardly at each other.

'Goodness,' Septima said again. 'Well, any other suggestions, before we leave?' She and her colleagues began edging quickly towards the door.

Severus paused in his writing, and turned towards the four professors with an unfathomable look.

'Write yourself a back story,' he said expressionlessly. 'Use what you know about your circumstances and what others say about you to create a history for yourself. When you are onstage, you have no other history; you have none of the memories that Septima Vector would have, only those you have created. Forget that you are playing a role; forget that you are an actor. Know exactly why you are saying everything you are saying. _Think_ like your role, and you will never reveal yourself to be who you are.' He stopped short, and turned back to his writing without another word.

'Erm, thanks, Severus,' said Septima after a moment, and she quickly pressed the others towards the door, glancing warily at Severus as she did so.

'Oh, and if it's not too much to ask,' drawled Severus as the witches were stepping out the door (they all stopped and peered round the frame at the back of the wizard's head), 'I think it would be very helpful to see any other interpretations of _Macbeth_ that you are able to procure. Provided, of course, your little movie-viewing gatherings are open to the general public.'

The witches clamoured their assent and invitation, and quickly left.

Severus sighed, finished his note to Minerva, read it through again, then crumpled it up and threw it into the fire. How on earth could he be so stupid as to think that she might possibly want to waste an evening running lines with him? She surely had more important things to do than to help a reclusive colleague with scheduling conflicts play catch-up on work (and not even _real_ work at that, he reminded himself). A pity he couldn't ask Lupin, since the werewolf owed him a favour after he'd spent all night brewing that bloody potion for him… but no, tonight Lupin would have four-inch fangs and be no more able to help Severus learn lines than the giant squid, induced docile nature or no; and in any case, Severus would rather have been eaten alive by the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher in his lycanthropic form than ask for help in the first place. For some reason, asking Minerva to read with him made the most sense, and he couldn't even bring himself to do that… it would be too _personal_ to perform in front of her, for some reason, so long as Dumbledore was absent. Acting for the fun of it was far below Severus; he needed Dumbledore there so it would seem like he was being forced.

Besides, it was bizarre that he would _want_ to delve deep into the mind of an indecisively regicidal thane. His colleagues would surely be alarmed by his growing fascination with Macbeth, let alone his desire to inhabit such an interesting psyche… hadn't Septima and Charity and the others (even Irma) dashed from the room in dismay at the reminder that he had once been a spy, and was thus skilled at the art of deception and lying? Friendly as the other professors were towards him, they balked at the mention of Severus's Death Eater past – Minerva was the only one (besides Dumbledore) who could still view him objectively, perhaps because she had been so critical at first.

Severus scowled. He really just wanted to read his bloody lines and sink his teeth into the job a bit; it was this abominable _waiting_ that was driving him mad, all the worrying about what it would be like to act on a real stage in front of someone for the first time; the notion of acting on a _stage_ in particular, where there was an audience fully _aware_ of the pretence, was what made him anxious. He'd lied plenty of times before, but lying convincingly while knowing that, deep down, no one was fooled… _that_ was a frightening proposition. He sat mulling over his thoughts anxiously for a few minutes more as a House Elf bustled in to clean up the popcorn remnants, before finally deciding to retreat to his dungeons and prepare for his next classes.

* * *

Well, there it is. Oh, and the video referred to is, of course, the absolutely BRILLIANT adaptation of "Much Ado About Nothing," starring Kenneth Branagh and Emma Thompson (or, to fans of the "Harry Potter" movies, Lockhart and Trelawney) and a bunch of other awesome people like Denzel Washington and Robert Sean Leonard (from "House") and Keanu Reeves and Michael Keaton... Imelda Staunton (who played Umbridge) is even in it, as a minor character who nonetheless plays an important role in the plot. It's a wonderful movie, and I recommend renting it, especially for those who think that Shakespeare is boring. :)


	5. Trust

Yes, friends, I am back. As always, I apologize for the EXTREMELY long lapse in updates... but it is now the summer, and today I found the inspiration to _finally_ finish a chapter that had been driving me crazy. I hope you will forgive the delay, and I promise that I will be much more proactive about writing during the rest of the summer. :)

As you well know, nothing belongs to me. Cheers.

* * *

5. Trust

As Remus was in no form to attend rehearsal the following evening – and as most of the staff had spent the previous night watching over the students in the Great Hall, or creeping about the corridors in search of Sirius Black – Albus left a message tacked to the bulletin board of the faculty lounge requesting some time to work with Minerva and Severus on a few of their scenes.

'Ooh, these are the good parts!' squealed Aurora, alarmingly cheerful considering the recent break-in. 'We do get to come watch, don't we?'

Charity shrugged. 'Why do you want to?'

'Oh, come on, Charity,' sighed Septima. 'Don't you want to see Minerva command Severus to commit homicide for her? It'll be fun!' Septima giggled at the thought of her upright colleague making such a request, playacting or no.

'Besides,' added Aurora dreamily, 'the Macbeths are kind of cute, aren't they?'

Septima and Charity stared at her.

'Really, they are… the parts before they go insane, at least!' Aurora insisted. 'How she's so happy to see him when he comes home, and he has all sorts of pet names for her, like "dearest chuck" and so forth…'

'Yes, but she's only happy to see him because she wants him to _kill_ someone for her,' Charity reminded Aurora.

'No, she's not!' Aurora retorted. 'She's happy because he didn't die in the war!'

'Didn't you read the play? She's not a nice person!'

'Yes, but she can still like her husband, can't she, even if she kills everyone else…'

'Maybe,' Septima interrupted, 'it's like Severus said, where there's not one way to play the character. In which case it's Minerva's choice how Lady Macbeth feels about Macbeth coming home.'

Aurora and Charity turned on Septima, but realised that everything she had said made sense and quickly stopped whatever arguments were about to spring from their mouths.

'Well, we'll see tonight, won't we,' Aurora concluded, a slight bounce in her step as she moved away from the bulletin board and towards the large stack of doughnuts on the table.

Septima and Charity had both just moved away from the bulletin board when into the room swept Severus, who gravitated towards the bulletin board the instant he saw the lime green announcement. His stomach gave an odd lurch when he read it, and without further ado he marched out of the staff room and towards the Headmaster's Office.

'Good morning, Severus,' said Dumbledore pleasantly as the Potions master swooped into the office like an overgrown bat. 'I was just reading the most fascinating article in _Transfiguration Today_, and…'

'Headmaster, I apologise for being blunt, but I cannot and will not rehearse my part tonight in front of the rest of the staff,' said Severus with no fanfare.

Dumbledore smiled and twirled one of his whirring silver contraptions with one long finger, causing it to emit a high soft whistle and a thin stream of smoke. 'Nerves, Severus?'

'Perhaps,' muttered Severus, irritated at being forced to put such a childish name to his anxieties.

'Nothing at all to be ashamed of,' cried Dumbledore jovially, folding his hands before him. 'Why, every time I have to speak in front of the Wizengamot, I can't eat anything for at least three hours beforehand for fear I shall become sick during the proceedings – which, I can tell you from experience, wins more revulsion than favour from those assembled.'

'Lovely,' replied Severus under his breath.

'So, what can I do to make the situation easier for you, then… besides cancelling the rehearsal altogether?' Dumbledore asked, checking Severus the instant the latter opened his mouth.

'I just… haven't had time to look over my lines carefully enough. Nor have I been able to rehearse them with Minerva, and I don't want the entire bloody staff there laughing at us.'

'Well, I'm sure Minerva would have no objection whatsoever to tearing herself away from her marking this afternoon,' said Dumbledore, though Severus was sure they both knew the very suggestion might well make the witch livid. 'And, if it would make you both feel better, I can keep the rehearsal private – just you, Minerva, myself, and Irma.'

'Irma?' repeated Severus.

'Come now, Severus, she's our dramaturge and our resident Bardophile. It would be inconsiderate and foolish to exclude her.'

'Very well.' Severus turned to go.

'And I do mean what I said about pulling Minerva away from her work for a bit,' Albus added. 'I'll be interested to see what you two come up with for your characters, before Irma can exert any of her opinion, educated though it may be.'

* * *

Minerva had slept badly, and not only because of that disturbing business with Sirius Black and the Fat Lady and the idiot knight in the portrait that had replaced her. She had woken several times during the few hours of sleep she had managed to squeeze into her schedule, and though she _wished_ it was simply out of concern for Harry Potter, she was almost certain that it had been her old nightmares returning to haunt her. And she blamed Albus Dumbledore completely, Albus and his stupid play. She pressed the tip of her quill down so hard onto the timetable she was drawing out that a jet of ink sprayed up all over her face, and she threw the quill down onto the desk, cursing.

Minerva was just finishing wiping the ink off her nose, using the small mirror on her mantel, when a shower of green sparks and whooshing sound announced that someone was arriving by Floo. Too tired to reason out that she should move backwards, Minerva was still standing before the fireplace when Severus Snape emerged from the emerald flames and walked right into her.

'Ouch!' yelped Minerva, rubbing her forehead.

'Damn it!' roared Severus, falling backwards in surprise and hitting the back of his head on the mantel. That was certainly _not_ the way he had wanted to make his entrance, and he scrambled to his feet in embarrassment.

'Good heavens, Severus, are you all right?' Minerva asked, her bleary mind finally making sense of all that had just occurred.

'Quite,' sniffed Severus, brushing some ash from his robes.

The two stood in an awkward silence for a moment, Minerva still rubbing her forehead with a slight frown.

'Well, where are my manners?' she said suddenly. 'Please, take a seat, won't you.'

'Thank you,' replied Severus crisply, sitting down.

'And how can I help you this morning, Severus?' Minerva asked, seating herself in her own chair and folding her hands (Severus noted) in exactly the same manner Dumbledore had half an hour earlier.

Severus cleared his throat. 'I don't suppose you've seen Dumbledore's newest announcement?'

Minerva's eyes narrowed. 'No, I haven't.'

'He's calling the two of us for a rehearsal tonight… a _private_ rehearsal. Just the two of us, himself, and Irma.'

As he had expected, Minerva's nostrils flared and her lips pressed tightly together. 'Is he now?'

'Oh, come off it, Minerva, you know you've got as good a chance of getting out of this rehearsal as the Chudley Cannons do of winning this year's Cup,' snapped Severus. Did she really hate this whole play business that much? Or was it her current wrath towards Dumbledore that was making her this way? 'Anyway, I…' He stopped, coughed, and told himself that he had not just dawdled for half an hour in front of his office's fireplace to get cold feet right now. 'I was wondering if you would be willing to run lines this afternoon, just so we have some idea of what we're doing.'

Minerva stared at him. 'What?'

'I was wondering,' Severus repeated a bit louder, 'if you would be willing to tear yourself away from your ever-so-important marking this afternoon, so that we can run our lines together at least once and not look like complete idiots in front of our esteemed colleagues this evening.'

Minerva opened her mouth to respond with as diplomatic a negative as she could muster, but something about the way Severus was seated in his chair – leaning slightly forward, hands clasped on his knees, quite a contrast to his usual casual manner of reclining with his arms crossed obstinately – reminded her of the awkward student he had once been. Somehow, she could tell that he was, for once, opening himself up to vulnerability, something she knew that Severus did as seldom as she did herself. She sighed.

'Very well. I'm done with classes by four.'

Severus's shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly. 'Then I shall be back then,' he said, rising to his feet. 'Thank you, Minerva.'

'You're welcome,' she replied wearily as he stepped back into the fireplace and disappeared in a poof of green smoke. After a moment, she pulled her script from her desk and flipped it open.

'But screw your courage to the sticking-place, / And we'll not fail,' she muttered to herself, closing the script and sliding it under her timetable. At least now she'd have something to look forward to between a double period of Slytherin and Hufflepuff first years, and two hours of Albus Dumbledore smiling down upon her benevolently.

* * *

By the time Severus knocked on Minerva's door at precisely four o'clock that afternoon, Minerva was genuinely excited to see him.

'Come in,' she called, taking a sip of tea. The doorknob turned, and Severus entered with far more composure than he had had upon his arrival earlier that morning.

'Tea?' Minerva asked, gesturing to the chairs by the fireplace as she moved around her desk.

'No, thank you,' said Severus as he sat down on one of the armchairs (a bit too rigidly to be properly seated 'in' it).

'Well, feel free to change your mind later, if you'd like,' said Minerva with a shrug, conjuring a second cup and saucer and placing them next to the teapot on her desk. She too took a seat on one of the armchairs and flipped open her script.

'Needless to say, I've never done anything of this nature,' she added. 'So if you've any idea how to begin…'

Severus shrugged. 'Not a clue. I suppose we just… read.'

'Very well.' Minerva cleared her throat and glanced at Severus. 'From the beginning of the scene?'

'I think from "Great Glamis" will do,' Severus reassured her.

Minerva nodded tersely and took a deep breath. 'Great Glamis! worthy Cawdor! / Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter! / Thy letters have transported me beyond / this ignorant present, and I feel now / the future in the instant,' she read in a voice that matched her stiff posture.

Severus wrinkled his nose. Minerva noticed. Merlin, didn't he have any idea how intensely foolish she felt doing this?

'Have I done something wrong?' she challenged him.

_Damn it_. The last thing he wanted to do was provoke a fight with Minerva, not when he'd asked her to do this for him. He chose his words carefully.

'It was fine, but you didn't seem like you believed yourself,' he responded smoothly.

Minerva bristled. 'And what, pray tell, is _that_ supposed to mean?'

Severus pointed at the page. 'Well, what does she mean? What is she actually saying here?'

'What makes you the great expert in Shakespearean drama?' Minerva snapped defensively.

'As I was just reminding your friends,' said Severus in a dangerously quiet voice, 'though I may have no formal training as an actor, per se, I have adequate enough experience in the realm of deception.'

Minerva frowned but did not argue. Severus waited a moment to be sure she was not going to argue with him, and continued.

'The first thing you need to know is what the words _mean_. Only then can you decide what emotion to put behind them. So?'

Minerva scowled and skimmed the lines quickly. 'She's saying hello to him, and that she read the letters, and now she knows the future.'

Severus had to work hard to not roll his eyes. 'Fair enough. But how does she _feel_ about all this?'

'I have no idea, Severus, why don't you tell me?' snapped Minerva.

'You have several choices, you know,' Severus pointed out. 'You could play it where she's already thinking only of the murder, of course, which might make her nervous or happy or what have you. Or you could have it that, for at least a moment, she's actually happy to see him back safely from the wars. I'm sure there are other options, but those are the two that come most readily to mind.'

Minerva raised an eyebrow. 'So which do you want me to think?' She really hated making decisions like this – she could barely keep her own emotions straight half the time, let alone those of this madwoman.

'It's your decision completely,' said Severus unhelpfully, though he was hoping she'd choose the latter for the purposes of adding depth to the characters.

'Right,' said Minerva, and she began again. But barely three words had escaped her mouth when Severus stopped her.

'You're still not putting the right emotion behind it,' he said.

'Well, it's harder than it looks!' snarled Minerva, who was by this point sick of her younger colleague's patronizing manner.

Severus looked at her for a long moment with lips pursed in thought. 'Do you trust me?' he asked finally.

Minerva blinked. 'What?'

'Look, I know it sounds like a stupid question, but I'm getting the feeling you don't trust me enough to bare yourself emotionally before me, or whatever it is you need to do to act.'

'I… what?'

'Well, do you trust me, or not?'

Minerva looked at him a long moment. 'Severus, I would trust you with many things, but this is…'

'Intensely personal, I know.' Severus sighed. This was going to be harder than he'd thought. 'All right, then… Could you pretend for an instant that you really cared about me?'

'Well, of course I _care_ about you, Severus…'

'Not in a superficial "I hope you don't get dragon pox and die tomorrow" way.' Severus took a moment to screw his own courage to the sticking-place. 'I mean, pretend that you love me.'

Minerva blanched slightly. 'I am not sure I can do that,' she said in an indecipherable voice.

'You don't _really_ need to love me, of course,' said Severus, his anger mounting; was he really that contemptible? 'You don't even need to _like_ me, for goodness sake, Minerva. It's _acting_.'

'And I can't do it,' Minerva finished icily, rising to her feet. 'Severus, I don't think is going productively at all. Either we shall read our lines as best as we can, or you should probably leave.'

The options were spoken in a manner that left Severus only one choice.

'Then I shall see you tonight,' he said coldly. 'Obviously, you are not in the mood to even _attempt_ to read your lines as best you can.' And he stormed out of the classroom.

Minerva threw herself into the chair with a huff. This whole business was absurd, simply absurd – _especially_ when other more pressing matters were at hand, such as escaped convicts and endangered students. Of course, she knew that to act meant that she could pretend to love Severus without actually doing so; of course, she knew that this was the very essence of acting. But knowing and doing are two very different things, and Minerva knew that she just couldn't pretend that Severus was anything but what he was: a former Death Eater, a curmudgeonly colleague, even a witty friend, but _not_ a husband whom she loved dearly. Minerva only allowed her imagination to go so far; any further, and her nightmares began returning.

The thing was, though she was dead set against having to make herself any more emotionally vulnerable than necessary (that was to say, at all), she still was very sorry to not be able to comply with what Severus had said. Even though he knew just as well as she did that it was all a farce, she could tell that he did care deeply about the project, and that he wanted her to do well within it. There was no other reason he would have demanded what he had of her; Severus was not the type to wax emotional over anything. He had counted on her to be as dedicated to her role as he was to his, and she had failed him. Poor, poor Severus, whose life had been nothing but a string of disappointments. Minerva rather hated herself for contributing to his misery.

For Severus was indeed miserable as he whipped down the hallways, the torches on the walls flickering wildly in his wake. How the hell was _he_ supposed to act convincingly if Minerva wasn't going to cooperate with him? It was one thing to act _with_ Minerva, to feed off her energy and her commitment; but if Minerva was going to be as animated as a block of wood, then any believable acting Severus did while onstage with her would make him seem melodramatic, overblown, like a monkey waving its arms about wildly while reciting the elegant words of Shakespeare.

He kicked a suit of armour, which clanged to the floor loudly in the deserted hall. 'I have no spur / To prick the sides of my intent, but only / Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself / And falls on the other,' he snarled to the suit of armour as he hauled it to its feet violently and went on his way.

And why in Merlin's name was Minerva so bloody opposed to the very notion of loving him? He wasn't asking her to _mean_ it, for God's sake… it was all make-believe, a stupid mind trick. Was he so utterly terrible that even the pretence was offensive? He shouldn't have said anything. Now Minerva would think he was an absolute idiot, and whatever kindness she had extended to him before would vanish as surely as Remus Lupin would turn into a werewolf in exactly a month's time. If only he hadn't shown such naïve enthusiasm for the play, and made himself look so eager to get it right, a sort of theatrical Hermione Granger with a hypothetical hand bobbing in the air. _Pick me, Professor, I know the answer!_

Severus banged open the door of his office in the dungeons and slammed it shut behind him, locking it as he did so. He sat down glumly at his desk and placed his forehead none too gently on its solid wooden top.

'We will proceed no further in this business,' he quoted to the desk, which, as he expected, did not respond. The ticking of the clock on the wall only reminded him that he would have no choice but to face Minerva again in only a few hours' time.

* * *

Irma Pince hummed a bit to herself as she strode down the corridor to Dumbledore's office, her worn and dog-eared copy of _The Complete Works of Shakespeare_ tucked securely under her arm. She was tremendously eager to see what she could do with the characters of Macbeth and his vicious lady; in a small way, she had hoped that the Sorting Hat would choose her for the coveted role of Lady Macbeth, but she really couldn't argue that Minerva was a much better decision. Still, as the dramaturge, she was glad that she'd get some say in how things were to turn out; Irma had attended no fewer than fourteen performances of _Macbeth_ throughout her 83 years, and with each performance she'd seen, her vision of how the characters should and must be played had become more and more defined.

'Sorry I'm a bit late,' she said as she breezed into the office and paused in confusion. 'Did you do something with the actors?'

Albus held up his hands in a shrug, as lacking in information as the Librarian. 'I was hoping you'd passed them on your way over.'

Irma sighed. 'Well, no offense to you, Albus, but this is going to be a rather pointless rehearsal if neither of the participants appear.'

Fortunately, at that moment, the door opened slowly and in peered Severus, his keen eyes quickly scanning the room to see if Minerva was already there; when it was clear she wasn't, he entered with considerably more confidence and sat down cautiously.

'Good evening,' he said.

'Well, there's one of them, at least,' muttered Irma to herself, just as Minerva walked into the room wearing an expression most would associate with a walk to the gallows.

'And the other!' cried Albus. 'Please have a seat, Minerva.'

Minerva ignored him and sat down of her own accord.

'May I ask how your rehearsing went this afternoon?' asked Albus pleasantly, to which he received a noncommittal noise from Severus and a loud sniff from Minerva. 'Excellent! Well, let us begin, then.'

Severus could not help but note that Minerva flipped open her script with more aggression than was perhaps necessary.

'Right, well, first, let's talk about your characters, shall we,' said Irma, adjusting her spectacles on the edge of her nose as she carefully flipped the pages of her tattered tome. 'Have you two talked over your relationship at all?'

Minerva raised an eyebrow.

'Your _characters' _relationship,' Irma elucidated in annoyance. 'Frankly, I have a few ideas, if you're willing to hear them.'

'By all means,' drawled Severus. Irma shot him a grateful smile and began eagerly.

'Well, I don't know how you two feel about this, but I've always preferred it when the Macbeths are portrayed as a really genuinely caring couple who love each other very much. I think it would be much more interesting if you did the characters that way… it'd show them in a more sympathetic light at moments.'

Severus checked himself before he grinned outwardly; he was glad that Irma, at least, seemed to be thinking along the same lines as himself.

'If they're so happy, then why do they jeopardize all that for power?' Minerva asked, unconvinced. 'Surely they can't be that ambitious for no real reason?'

'Hmm.' Irma rubbed her nose as she thought. 'Well, there are several ways about thinking about that, too. The most basic is simple greed, though I think that that's an easy way out for uncreative directors. I prefer to look at what's lacking in their lives, what they might be trying to replace with power.'

'Which is?' Severus asked. He was finding this whole process far more fascinating than he was showing.

Irma shrugged. 'I've always focused on the fact they have no children, personally, though I'm sure there are other reasons. After all, Lady Macbeth is always accusing Macbeth of lacking manliness – implying impotence, no offence, Severus – and then there's that part where Lady Macbeth is talking about how she had a child but would have killed it rather than break her vow to kill the king, so perhaps they're using power to replace a child who died.'

'Certainly throws a new light on the whole notion of killing Fleance,' commented Severus, who was more focused on the happy fact that his virility was not in question.

'Minerva,' said Albus warningly, but it was too late: Minerva had risen from her seat shaking, and was already sweeping out the office door. 'Minerva!' Albus shouted, hurrying after her with surprising agility for an old man. Severus instinctually leapt to his feet and slipped out after his colleagues, leaving a stupefied Irma staring after them.

Albus had slowed to a halt and was shaking his head ruefully by the time Severus reached him.

'Severus, you'd best leave her alone,' said the Headmaster wearily, as Severus ignored him completely and strode swiftly round the corner an instant before Minerva disappeared down the end of the next corridor.

'_Impedimenta,_' muttered Severus, slowing Minerva in her tracks. As she struggled furiously against the spell, he sped up the hall towards her.

'Let me go!' Minerva hissed through gritted teeth. Her eyes were filled with a sort of fury that Severus had only ever seen a few times before, the sort of rage that radiated from Dumbledore palpably when he faced Death Eaters – only Minerva resembled nothing so much as a feral animal, ready to fight till the desperate end.

'What the hell is wrong with you?' he snarled back. 'Look, Minerva, I know we all feel awkward about this, I know we're all on edge right now, but _must_ you make it ten times more difficult through your outrageous stubbornness? It's really not fair to the rest of us…'

'_I _am unfair?' shrieked Minerva. 'You think this is _my_ fault? Ask Albus why I'm acting this way, why don't you, he of all people should know…'

'I think you should know by now, Minerva, that the Headmaster does not share whatever secrets have been entrusted him by his friends,' said Severus coldly.

'Oh, of course,' seethed Minerva. 'Saint Albus the Good, isn't he? Laurelled, lauded, perfectly trustworthy, and the master of mental torture.'

Severus could practically feel Minerva's unbridled anger rise off her like steam from the surface of a boiling lake; he had to check himself to keep from moving backwards, away from her ire.

'Dumbledore wants nothing but the best for you,' he said quietly, and he knew it was the truth, whatever was causing Minerva to behave this way. 'He always has, and he always will.'

The spell had almost worn away, but Minerva froze nonetheless, a muscle in her cheek twitching. Then, with a calm that was tenfold more terrifying than her wrath, she turned to Severus with her jaw set and her gaze dangerous.

'Dumbledore could have prevented my family from being murdered,' she spat venomously, her trembling voice rising in volume. 'He could have stopped it. But thanks to him, him and this stupid play, I am haunted every hour by the memory of my daughter being murdered right in front of me by Dark wizards.'

In the silence following this statement, Severus could distinctly hear the flames of the torches on the walls sputter in the slight draft. For once, there was no need for him to conceal his surprise; genuine shock had frozen every feature of his face.

'Minerva…' he muttered. Some anomalous, unconscious instinct dragged his arm from his side and laid his hand softly upon Minerva's shoulder in a gesture of sympathy.

'Don't touch me!' she snarled, and with a bang Severus was thrown backwards against the wall. By the time the flashing lights had cleared from his eyes, Minerva was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

Well, this ending certainly turned out darker than I'd expected. I promise the next chapter will offer much more comedy... and more explanation, of course.


	6. Understudies

Short and completely insufficient considering my long absence... but it progresses things somewhat. Usual disclaimer: No one is mine.

* * *

6. Understudies

Severus often appeared bat-like and disgruntled upon his arrival at the Great Hall for breakfast, but Pomona thought he looked infinitely worse than usual today as he stomped up the steps to the professors' table and crumpled into the chair next to her. He swiped at his greasy hair with one hand, grunted in irritation as it fell back across his eyes, and (face still shrouded) grabbed half-heartedly for the teapot.

'Are you feeling well, Severus?' Pomona asked concernedly, reaching for the tea herself and pouring him a cup. She was about to ask if Severus took sugar with his tea, but upon seeing his face thought better of it.

'Fine,' said Severus smoothly, seizing his cup rather violently and taking a sip that scalded his tongue. 'Damn it!'

(Pomona stared at him in consternation for a moment, biting her lip slightly and wondering if she should scoot her chair a bit further away in case her colleague's ire reached a breaking point, but she rallied her courage and instead occupied herself with preparing her own cup of tea.)

In truth, Severus had had a wretched night. After his confrontation with Minerva – a memory that made his stomach churn every time he thought about it – he had stormed back to his room in humiliation and confusion. It being not in the Potions Master's nature to weep, he had appeased his bruised ego by smashing anything that would break with a loud noise, till at last he found himself standing amidst a room full of rubble and shards, shaking with fury and nearly weak-kneed, whereupon he slowly began to repair his possessions one by one.

Yet even once the mess was cleared up, and the last jar had been magically reassembled and restored to its rightful place on a shelf, Severus was far from sleep. He sat at his desk, trying to read the same article from the _Daily __Prophet_ over and over; eventually, he gave up and, pushing his chair back from his desk, looked instead out his window towards the slightly-less-than-full moon. Against his will, images kept flashing across the cinema screen of his mind, disjointed pictures and words that drew a precise portrait of exactly why Minerva McGonagall would always see him as a despicable outsider. Merlin, how could she ever forgive him when her own child had been slaughtered by a murderer just like himself? And, thought Severus, furrowing his brow, how had he never _known_ before now that Minerva had had a daughter?

Eventually, realising he was going to get little sleep if any at all, Severus sought emotional refuge – as a mixture of schadenfreude and catharsis – by reading in rapid succession _Hamlet_, _Romeo__ and__ Juliet_, and _King__ Lear_. He was halfway through _Othello_ when his head finally dropped onto the desk, only 45 minutes before his alarm woke him up; and what few minutes of sleep he actually received were tainted by an indecipherable mélange of Shakespearean scenarios inhabited by figures from the real world: Dumbledore as King Lear, wandering about in a storm with a nonsense-spouting Neville Longbottom in tow; an anguished Draco Malfoy conferring with an unusually vocal Bloody Baron on some parapet; a rather odd situation in which he, Severus, was brandishing a tartan handkerchief of Minerva's at Kingsley Shacklebolt, of all people (Severus hadn't seen the man in years). He had tried to hex his alarm when it went off, only to realise that hexes don't work on clocks; thus, with much _sotto__ voce_ swearing, Severus had dragged himself to a vertical position, waited for the red imprint left by the unforgiving surface of his desk to recede from his forehead, and ventured over to the Great Hall in a semi-comatose state.

Under normal circumstances, Severus probably wouldn't have said anything, but a combination of strong curiosity and punch-drunkenness from exhausted brought out his most inquisitive side. Having caught himself just before he spread catsup on his toast instead of jam, he leaned over towards Pomona, who jumped slightly when he muttered in her ear.

'Can I have a word with you?' he asked, too tired to worry about being awkward. 'I need you to tell me something about Minerva.'

Pomona's eyebrows lifted slowly. 'Something you can't ask her yourself?'

'Yes, and something I need to know, regardless of whether she wants me to or not.' Pomona's jaw set stubbornly, but Severus continued on, undaunted. 'She mentioned something last night…' Severus stopped and glanced about to ensure that no-one else was paying them any mind.

'Yes?'

'We had a bit of a row,' admitted Severus, 'and she mentioned something about… Dark wizards… and her daughter dying, and I just thought that since you two are very good friends, I might as well ask you.'

Had Severus not been so exhausted and so impatient to receive an answer, the shocked look on Pomona's face might have been comical.

'_She_ mentioned that to you?' Pomona whispered back. 'What in Merlin's name did you _do_ to her?'

'_I_ didn't do anything,' drawled Severus defensively, 'but she seems to be bloody furious with me or the play or _something_ right now, and I'd like to know how to make amends with my theatrical spouse, if indeed she's going to consent to go through with this farce anyway.'

Pomona's brow furrowed and her lips pursed as she weighed all possible ends to this conversation and their outcomes. Finally, she released a long sigh, glanced back across the staff table to where Minerva was chatting politely enough with Filius, and rose to her feet.

'Let's talk out by the greenhouses,' she muttered to Severus. 'I need to water the plants anyway before my third-years arrive.'

Outside in the crisp November air, Severus felt himself jolt awake a bit more, and by the time the two had reached the greenhouses in a state of tacitly-agreed silence, he felt ready to handle whatever Pomona might say. She graciously held the door open for Severus, and then surprised him by handing him a watering can, nodding him in the right direction as she began to fill her own.

'I don't know if you're aware of this, but Minerva and I have been friends since our first ride on the Hogwarts Express together,' Pomona began as she faced Severus across the width of a long table, on which little plants wriggled thirsty tentacles from terracotta pots. 'We were very close friends all through our time at Hogwarts, and our loyalty to each other runs very deep.' Pomona neatly tilted her watering can so that a last drip of water fell on the end of a jubilant plant feeler, and she looked very seriously at Severus. 'I just want to make clear that I am trusting you with very sensitive information about one of the people I care about most in the world, and if you abuse it in any way, Severus Snape, I promise you will be very sorry. Do you understand?'

People, Severus noted wryly to himself, always underestimated how intimidating Hufflepuffs could be when necessary. He nodded mutely.

'Right.' Pomona blew out a slow breath of air, nudged a strand of hair into place with the back of her hand. 'Well, to make a long story short, Minerva fell in love with a very good friend of ours, and they were married only a few months after our year left Hogwarts. He was in training as a Healer; she as an Auror. Their daughter was born sometime shortly afterwards; a really inquisitive little girl, no doubt would have been a great witch one day. And her parents simply adored her…' Pomona shook her head wistfully.

Severus was trying his best to wrap his mind around the idea of a maternal, married, twenty-something-year-old Minerva, and the idea was harder for him to visualize than he felt it should be – he, of all people, was aware that professors had lives outside of Hogwarts. Yet for some reason, his understanding of who he knew to be Minerva McGonagall was so set in stone that it was hard for him to imagine her under the age of forty, without her strict bun and stern glare.

'And what happened?' he asked.

His insides writhed uncomfortably as tears sprang to Pomona's eyes. 'The war,' she replied simply, her voice surprisingly steady. 'Minerva's father – did she ever tell you? – was the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, very high-profile, and his family was all too easy a target. I'm not sure of the details, exactly, but one thing led to another, and her entire family…'

Pomona gave up on trying not to cry, and she sat down on a stone bench, placing her watering can next to her before burying her face in her hands. Severus stood awkwardly where he was, clutching his own watering can in both hands and wondering what he should do.

'I'm sorry,' sobbed Pomona, 'but it was _such_ a terrifying time, Severus. We had no idea where she was for months before the war ended, and she won't talk about what happened; I can only assume that Grindelwald interrogated her for information, about the Ministry or about Albus; or, worse, tortured her…' Pomona gulped. 'At any rate, by the time the war was over, her husband was dead, her daughter was dead, and she pressed on with life, trying to forget about it, and we never had the heart to remind her.'

Severus shook his head, feeling increasingly numb inside. 'She tried to forget about it,' he repeated, and for a horrifying instant, the smiling face of Lily Evans flashed before his mind's eye.

'Oh, yes.' Pomona sniffed, shaking her head with a frown and very bright eyes. 'Threw herself into her work, never talked about it with _anyone_, for the last fifty years as far as I know.'

'And now, with this play…'

'Too many families – spouses, children – dead and murdered,' finished Pomona concisely. 'Especially in my scene…'

'Where Macduff's family is murdered on Macbeth's orders,' muttered Severus. 'Jesus.'

'You're pretty heartless, you know,' said Pomona with a slight smile; an instant later, she felt a spasm of guilt convulse her as Severus seemed to shrink into himself. 'I meant your _role_, Severus…'

'I know.' Without a word, Severus turned back to the plants, and when Pomona had wiped her eyes dry again, she rose from her bench and joined him in silence.

'Well, this has been extremely enlightening,' said Severus finally when the plants had stopped wriggling their tentacles and had begun cooing softly. The two stood awkwardly across from each other for a moment, then Severus held out his watering can for Pomona to take. 'I… er…'

'You're welcome,' said Pomona simply, accepting the watering can. She considered her younger peer, wondering if she would ever understand fully what went through his mind. 'Talk to Minerva,' she said after a moment's scrutiny. 'I think it might do you both some good.'

Severus opened his mouth to reply, but just then the raucous conversations of third-years became audible from outside the greenhouses.

'You'd best go now, Severus,' suggested Pomona, not unkindly. She held the door open for him, and responded in like turn to his nod as he swept out onto the lawn, past the crowd of cheerful students.

* * *

Irma blinked and rubbed her eyes, then blinked again. No, she wasn't just imagining things; Albus had indeed posted yet another notice announcing that night's rehearsal, on a neon blue sign that flashed different hues to the tune of the Danube Waltz playing softly.

'Not a chance,' she muttered to herself, casting a wary eye for Minerva as she edged her way out of the staff room, past Rolanda pontificating to Aurora about some unfair Quidditch call in a match the previous night. 'Whatever you may be hoping, Albus, there's not a chance…'

She said as much to the Headmaster as he sat serenely behind his desk, hands folded and his most polite smile on display. When Irma was done telling him why an obstinate Minerva was not an actress with whom she could work (if, indeed, she turned up at rehearsal at all, which Irma doubted), Albus nodded a few times politely and then succinctly justified his decision to Irma:

'My dear dramaturge, I would have thought that your courses at Cambridge would have drilled you from day one on the first rule of theatre: The show must go on.'

Irma opened her mouth to argue, took a second to think, and shut her mouth again.

'Really, Albus?' she said, starting to laugh slightly with her hands akimbo. 'It's a bit difficult to put on _Macbeth_ without Lady Macbeth, you know…'

'And I never said we wouldn't have a Lady Macbeth,' replied Albus calmly.

'So you really think Minerva will be coming back, then?' said Irma incredulously.

'Oh, not for a day or so, at least,' said Albus with a twinkle in his eye, 'by which time I expect Severus will be able to convince her to be like the Chaser she once was and take one for the team.'

(Irma was about to ask why on earth Albus expected Severus, of all people, to prod Minerva back into line, but she knew the Headmaster would give an equally obscure answer, and so kept her mouth shut.)

'And, for tonight?' she asked warily.

'Ah, tonight!' Albus practically leapt to his feet, making his way to his bookshelf with far more agility than a 150-year-old should display. 'I believe we will have to beg our dear Hat to find us an understudy.'

Irma nodded slowly. Why in Merlin's name hadn't that occurred to her before?

Albus plucked the Hat delicately off the shelf, held it by its pointed tip, and tugged a slip of paper from just inside the brim. With a flourish, he drew it forth, gave a slight bow to the Hat before placing back on the shelf, and glanced at the slip of paper. An amused smile spread instantly across his wrinkled face.

'Who is it?' asked Irma with some trepidation; whenever Albus Dumbledore's eyes lit up in just that manner, she had learned, something highly bizarre was about to happen.

But before Albus could answer, a sharp rap at the door made Irma turn.

'Come in!' called Albus, and when Irma glared at him, he added innocently, 'Suspense only makes the revelation sweeter, Irma. Tonight.'

'Headmaster?' said Severus warily as he peered round the door. 'May I have a word with you?'

'Only if Irma has nothing more to say,' replied Albus politely, deferring to the Librarian, who shook her head, still pouting slightly. 'I promise, Irma, all will be revealed…'

Once Irma had left the office looking not much placated, Albus turned to Severus, smiling graciously. 'And how can I help you today, Severus?'

Severus scowled and flicked at a lever on one of the Headmaster's whirring silver contraptions; it whistled and spouted smoke at him like an irritated teapot.

'I just spoke with Pomona about Minerva,' he began, and then stopped to collect his thoughts; Albus waited patiently for the younger man to collect his thoughts neatly. 'Why didn't you tell me?' he asked finally.

Albus raised his eyebrows. 'It wasn't my past to share,' he responded delicately.

Severus gave a barely-audible snort. 'With all due respect, Headmaster, I have a hard time believing that after the – er – heated conversation between the two of you that…' He paused.

'That you accidentally overheard the other day.' Albus sighed. 'Well, the cat's out of the bag - pun retroactively intended - and I might as well fill in the blanks for you, Severus. Please, take a seat.' He gestured to a chair, in which Severus seated himself hesitantly.

'As Pomona has likely already informed you, Minerva's family was killed in what the Muggle world knows commonly as the Second World War – long before your time, Severus, and even many years before a young man named Tom Riddle would rise to power as Lord Voldemort.'

Only someone who had known and observed Severus for as many years as Albus had, would have detected the very slight flinch that flitted across the Potions Master's face.

'As you undoubtedly know, the wizarding world was at this time menaced by a dangerously charismatic and utterly heartless man named Gellert Grindelwald. Undoubtedly, you are also aware that I became rather well-known around that time for defeating him, thus ending the war.' Albus smiled bitterly. 'What you probably did not know is that Gellert was my best friend, and the prospect of fighting him was the most terrifying idea imaginable to me; of course, I feared the possibility of my own death – as so many sensible people do – but even more so, I feared that I would have to kill him. I imagine you've had the feeling yourself.'

Severus started quite visibly and stared at Albus; despite the calm and offhand tone his boss had used, Severus was simply not used to other people acknowledging the shadier parts of his past to his face.

'Yes,' he replied stiffly.

Albus nodded slightly, his thoughts clearly tending elsewhere. 'I was young and selfish, Severus. I thought only of preserving my own loved ones, though the small, rational part of me knew that every day I put off facing Gellert, more people would die, more families suffer…'

A small tear nudged its way out of the corner of Albus's eye and meandered its way down his crooked nose. Severus looked down at the surface of the desk between them.

'Well, I can't say if it's completely my fault that Minerva's family died,' Albus continued with effort. 'But it was her loss that finally galvanized me into action. Severus, Minerva may be one of the people I trust most in the entire world, but I don't think she shall every fully forgive me for hesitating till it was too late too save her family.'

Severus realised he had been holding his breath, and he exhaled slowly so as to be nearly inaudible. A thousand thoughts were racing through his head, but above the tumult, one voice repeated over and over that if Minerva could not forgive Albus Dumbledore after all this time, there was no way in hell she would ever truly trust Severus Snape…

'I see,' he said emotionlessly. 'And I suppose she'll boycott the play in retribution.'

'We shall see,' sighed Albus. 'But, if I may be so bold, Severus, I would very much appreciate if you would try to lure her back to us.'

Severus snorted derisively.

'I mean it, Severus.' Albus fixed Severus with a gaze more serious than Severus would have thought the ever-ebullient old professor capable of producing.

'How?' drawled Severus, annoyed. 'And why?'

Albus pursed his lips and touched the tips of his fingers together.

'Because you're the only one who's as furious with me as Minerva is… or at least you're the only one who has the right to be just as furious. Now, off you go… I would be thrilled to see you both at tonight's rehearsal.'

'But I…' began Severus, but Albus only waved his hand at the Potions Master, who recognised his cue to depart and promptly did so. Yet out in the corridor, Severus stopped and ran his hand over his mouth in confusion. How the hell was he, Severus Snape, who notoriously had less empathy than the Bloody Baron, supposed to play therapist for a ridiculously intimidating and currently enraged witch, whose opinion mattered more to Severus than that of nearly everyone else in the world?

* * *

Sybill carefully polished the surface of one of her many crystal balls with the edge of the flowing silk scarf dangling from round her neck and placed it back on its silver holder. Only a few hours ago, the Potter boy had been holding it in his hands, and Sybill's enormous eyes unconsciously filled with tears... how she prematurely mourned the imminent death of that boy! Never mind the fact that none of the other students whose deaths she'd planned had actually died; the Potter boy was different, Death had marked him early on when that scar had been branded on his innocent flesh, and Sybill knew – _knew!_ - that she was right about him. The Grim skulked behind him at every step, lurked in the shadows with its eyes gleaming, licked its chops every time he flew out onto the Quidditch pitch or approached one of Hagrid's bizarre creatures; she'd heard that one of them had attacked a Slytherin boy already, and that the poor soul had lain in the Hospital Wing for hours, moaning in pain. The thought made Sybill shiver with horrified excitement.

She adjusted her glasses and took a swig of cooking sherry. Her bottle was almost empty; she considered for a moment calling one of the house-elfs to bring her more, but after a minute decided to finish wiping the fingerprints off the rest of her crystal balls. (The last time she'd drunk too much before finishing her cleaning, the end of her scarf had caught on fire when she floated past her candle, and she'd dropped one of her favourite tea cups in fright, leading to a flurry of death omens for everyone around her for the next few days.)

With an overly-melodramatic sigh, Sybill peered through her oversized spectacles at the surface of the next crystal ball and gasped when she saw some new premonition moving glassily under the surface of the crystal ball. Blinking slowly, she gathered up her shawls in her arms, tipped the last remnants of her cooking sherry into her mouth, and bustled weirdly through the trapdoor and out of her tower.

Remus was noting a conspicuous lack of Minerva in Dumbledore's office as his colleagues chatted amiably amongst themselves. He noticed Severus seated by himself (unsurprisingly), staring broodingly at the floor, his elbows leaned forward onto his knees and his brow furrowed; he looked almost upset, and Remus was so troubled by such a visible display of emotion from the mercurial Potions master that he was about to approach Severus and ask what the matter was. Thankfully (as Remus noted in retrospect), he was spared a painful response to his well-intentioned actions when into the room burst Sybill Trelawney, completely distracting everyone and making Remus forget temporarily that Severus was even present.

'I have SEEN!' cried Sybill, staggering to the centre of the room with her necklaces rattling against each other and her hands flailing mystically. 'Whilst tending to the instruments of my art up in my tower, the Inner Eye revealed to me that the faculty was in dire need of my assistance!'

Sybill took a dramatic step forward and tripped on the edge of her robe; a startled Remus caught her and guided her to a chair.

'Sybill,' said Irma soothingly, 'are you sure you wouldn't like to go back to your tower and...?'

'My dear,' breathed Sybill, blinking solemnly through her enormous glasses, 'the clairvoyant waves that hallow the space of my tower would only press upon me all the more the need for my presence at this meeting, should I be forced to return there!' She hiccuped slightly.

'Headmaster,' murmured Poppy to Albus as he smiled tranquilly at the goings-on, 'please, for all our sakes, tell Sybill to go to bed.'

'Oh, nonsense, Poppy,' Albus replied cheerfully. 'Sybill can't leave tonight because she's filling in for Minerva.'

A hush fell over the room as the entire faculty turned and stared at Albus in disbelief.

'You're not serious,' Severus finally drawled.

'Indeed I am!' Albus waved the slip of paper in the air. 'The Sorting Hat has made its choice for Minerva's understudy quite clear.'

'Unbelievable,' Severus muttered, crushing his forehead into his hands. 'I will not do this.'

Yes, he had been too cowardly to seek Minerva out and mollify her in whatever mysterious ways Albus assumed only he, Severus, could. Yes, he had seen Minerva across the Great Hall twice that afternoon and carefully avoided any eye contact with her (not that she had made any attempts to acknowledge him). But despite his shortcomings in the realm of productive communication, Severus did NOT think punishment of this magnitude was warranted.

'What's that?' Sybill boosted herself out of the chair Remus had set her in, and stumbled towards Severus. 'Do you underestimate my capacity for drama?'

'Not in the slightest,' sneered Severus as Sybill teetered a bit.

'Well, then, let's get to it!' Sybill waved her wand jerkily, and a script flew from Dumbledore's desk into her hands, flipping open as it did so. Sybill stumbled forward to catch it in the centre of the room, raised one bejewelled hand as she cleared her throat daintily, and began to read in a trembling whisper:

'Come you spirits, / That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here, / And fill me from the crown to the toe top full / Of direst cruelty!'

Remus tried not to laugh aloud as he observed the stricken look on Irma's face; across the room, Rolanda and Aurora were leaning on each other for support, shaking with silent laughter so violently that tears streamed down their faces. Pomona raised an eyebrow in an obvious attempt to remain neutrally sympathetic to all parties involved, while Filius giggled discreetly behind one hand; meanwhile, Nearly-Headless Nick nodded gingerly in approval, as did Hagrid because he was dropping off to sleep. Peeves curled his toes wickedly and used the general distractedness of those assembled to drop a Flobberworm down a gawking Filch's coat.

_Kill__ me__ now_, thought Severus to himself, rubbing his greasy temples with his fingers as Sybill continued her overblown soliloquy. Had the Dark Lord burst through the doors of the office at the very moment, Severus would have shaken his hand in gratitude for the interruption. Because really, nothing – _nothing_ – could be worse than the prospect of...

'I do believe that's your cue, Severus!' cried Albus merrily, 'and I expect an impressive performance from you, now!' _Good__ heavens,__ if__ this__ doesn't__ galvanize__ him__ into __action,__ nothing__ will_, the old Headmaster thought as the Potions Master glanced up at him with the expression of a man ascending a scaffold.

Severus rose slowly to his feet in a slight daze, as though he'd been placed under the Imperius Curse and was not quite aware of what he was doing. Sybill blinked, glanced at her script, and took a shaky step towards him.

'Great Glamis! Worthy Cawdor! / Greater than both, by the all-hail thereafter!' she pronounced in a dramatic crescendo, and, before Severus was aware of what was going on, the tipsy Divination professor had launched herself at him and was engaging him a very sloppy, quite one-sided kiss.

Had Severus not been so stunned, he would have surely cursed Trelawney into oblivion right then and there. As things were, he stood there instead, staring in bewilderment at the woman suctioned to his face until whatever fraction of dignity still belonging to him manoeuvred his hands to pry Sybill's arms from around his neck, causing her to lose her balance completely and collapse to the ground.

'Well, that wasn't very nice!' she hiccuped, seemingly unaware that most of her colleagues (even Hagrid, who had awoken with a great snort when the room suddenly dropped to silence) were staring at her with their jaws gaping. 'Wait, aren't you going to say your lines now?'

At that exact moment, Filch realised that something very squelchy and gooey had been deposited down his coat, and his yelp diverted attention from Severus long enough to allow him to billow down the stairs and out of Dumbledore's office – though he couldn't quite shake the feeling that the Headmaster's twinkling eyes had followed him out of the room as the rest of the office dissolved into chaos. Severus, bright patches burning on his cheeks and the world quite literally becoming red around him, did not think he had felt so humiliated and enraged since... well, since the time that sodding scum James Potter and his posse of insufferable friends had...

Severus blasted a torch off the wall and made a mental note to assassinate Remus Lupin the next time they met. The man seemed to be tremendously bad luck for Severus's sense of self-decency.

And yet, at the same time, his automatic impulses to curse that pseudo-Seer into the next world were tempered by something Severus couldn't quite place. He paused, and briefly ran his hand over his frowning mouth. Yes, he bloody well wanted to murder Trelawney for her obscene drunken indiscretions, but... she had kissed him. She had _kissed_ him, and although the fact and its very public manifestation made Severus hate that barmy loon more than ever, no-one had shown any interest in kissing him – ever, now that Severus thought about it. Maybe once, when he and Lily (here his stomach gave a painful clench) had been innocent children together; yes, there had been one playful moment when their lips may have brushed.

Severus smiled softly in a most uncharacteristic manner before his bad humour returned with a vengeance.

Well, it was quite the laugh, wasn't it. Greasy old Snape, so ill-mannered that only a loopy fortune-teller resembling an oversized dragonfly would ever want to snog him. Fine, let them gloat. Severus prided himself in the fact that he didn't need anybody and never had – he had learned to cope (somewhat) with Lily's betrayal of their friendship (_and__ of__ your__ own__ betrayal __of__ that__ same__ friendship_, a nasty voice in his mind whispered), and he didn't need anyone's love or attention.

_That_, said a voice in his brain that sounded irritatingly like Albus Dumbledore, _is__ a __patently __untrue__ statement,__ Severus __Snape._

'Well, what would you have me do?' snarled Severus so loudly that several portraits on the wall looked at him in alarm and then scuttled out of their portraits. 'If I'm not aloud to slip poison into that morbid banshee's cooking sherry, then what the bloody hell should I do to preserve myself from utter insanity?'

And Severus sighed as the voice gave the answer he expected to hear: _Go __talk__ to__ Minerva._ Swearing indelicately under his breath, he made towards Gryffindor Tower, and then continued down the stairs back towards the safety of his dungeons.


	7. Interval

Nothing is mine. Ta da.

* * *

7. Interval

Minerva rubbed her eyes and grimaced as she picked up Hermione Granger's latest Transfiguration paper – 22 inches longer than Minerva had asked, and written in neat, minuscule print.

For Merlin's sake, didn't the girl realise that page limits were imposed to prevent the professors from losing their heads from having to read so much?

Minerva sighed in resignation, and for a moment, she considered transforming into a cat for a bit. She hadn't been sleeping well, and as a cat, she found that her human memories and concerns affected her unconscious far less strongly; while as herself, she jerked awake every few minutes, haunted by some unwelcome dream or recollection, when in Animagus form, she could let her feline mind take control, sink into the comfort of basic instincts and desires...

But, no. Schoolwork first, rest second. That, at least, was clear to her, having been so unpleasantly reminded only recently that teaching (and not family) was the reason for her continued existence. Had it not been for this one remaining consolation, that her students still needed her, she might long ago have walked into the lake with stones in her pockets.

_What a Shakespearean notion_, smirked a little voice in her head. _Minerva McGonagall, mad suicidal heroine... rather like Ophelia, or like Lady Macbeth..._

Minerva tossed the paper back onto her desk with a huff and reached for her teapot, frowning to see that it was empty. Stifling a yawn, she rose wearily from her desk, transformed into her tabby form, and slipped out of her office.

To merely pad about the quiet school was enough to wake Minerva up a bit. It being November, and the castle old and drafty, the nip in the air invigorated her more than she would have expected, which was advantageous, as her feline form was quite obviously ready to acquiesce to the fatigue her rational mind so resisted. Dodging in and out of patches of moonlight, she was surprised to hear a clock chime two in the morning, somewhere off in the distance. As she padded round a corner near Gryffindor Tower, she ran headlong into Mrs Norris, who hissed and yowled and then scampered away the second that moronic Sir Cadogan began roaring challenges at the noise; despite her long tenure at Hogwarts, Minerva was still unsure as to whether Mrs Norris knew she was not a real cat. In any case, she had no intention of revealing herself, as tempting as it was to tell that sodding knight to quell his lip; Filch had absolutely no business knowing when Minerva was wandering about at night.

To her annoyance, the staff room lights were on when she reached the door; that she would not be able to waltz in and seize some tea bags unnoticed made Minerva's fur bristle.

'Oh, _please._' Septima's voice floated from the staff room as Minerva settled herself in the shadows behind the door, hoping her colleagues would leave soon. 'I don't see how you can say that, not after all that business with You-Know-Who on the back of his head...'

'Well, let's say we're talking about him _before_ we knew about all that business with You-Know-Who on the back of his head!' responded Aurora's voice. (Minerva suspected that, should she slink into the room, she would see a bottle or two of Firewhisky nearly empty on the table.) 'Really, he was a very nice man – fairly easy on the eyes, and he had that sort of endearing stammer that made you just want to hug him...'

'You're so _weird_, 'Rora,' said Charity in a drunkenly-emphatic tone. 'I mean, just because someone stammers...'

'Well, who do _you_ fancy, then?' retorted Aurora.

'Remus,' replied Charity in a dreamy voice. 'He's so sweet. And he's got the nicest smile...'

'Yeah, but he's ill _all the time_,' Rolanda pointed out in what sounded like her normal brisk voice. 'I'd go mad, I think.'

'Well, it's better than You-Know-Who possession,' argued Charity in a hurt voice, 'at least there's nothing _evil_ about him!'

_If only you knew_, thought Minerva to herself, surprised to be reminded that she and Severus were the only other staff members (besides Dumbledore the Omniscient) to know of Remus's condition.

'And besides,' slurred Septima, '_you_ wouldn't be concerned with that, Ro... only bloke _you've_ ever fancied was Gilderoy Lockhart.'

'Look who's calling the kettle black,' snapped Rolanda. 'Besides, he was gorgeous in a very feminine way. I might have swung for him and his golden locks, had he not been such an insufferable bastard.'

All four professors emitted a dreamy sigh in near unison. Minerva twitched her nose in dismay and felt a little less guilty at her initial furtive admiration of Lockhart, before he'd proven himself to be an arrogant prick.

'Right, then, Ro, who would you fancy of the entire staff? If you _had_ to choose,' added Septima.

'Well, none of you, you're all too annoying,' declared Rolanda, and Minerva could just imagine her waving her hand unsteadily at the other three. 'Ooh, all right, if I _had_ to choose... maybe Minerva.'

Charity, Aurora, and Septima snorted with laughter. Minerva pricked up her ears in alarm, not sure if she should be more dreadfully offended by Rolanda's inebriated impetuosity, or by the fact the other three couldn't fathom that she might still be considered attractive.

'What?' demanded Rolanda indignantly. 'Merlin, you're all too young, but if you'd _seen_ her play Quidditch... I only overlapped her one year at Hogwarts, but I still remember...'

'That _would_ be the deciding factor in your book, wouldn't it, Ro?' gasped Septima, choking on a guffaw.

'And besides,' yelled Rolanda loudly, banging a hand flimsily against the staff room table in a failed attempt to regain attention, 'she does that thing where she just _stares_ at you and looks really intimidating and powerful...'

Minerva would have snorted with some indecipherable emotion herself, had she not been a cat at that moment. This was all getting too absurd, as useful as it would be as blackmail material to keep Rolanda in line in future situations.

'Fine, then,' snapped Rolanda as her colleagues' chuckles subsided into wheezes of mirth. 'Septima, your turn.'

'Severus Snape,' replied Septima without a pause for consideration.

Minerva's eyes narrowed as the room filled with 'oohs' and giggles.

'What?' Septima challenged in a voice that might have sounded matter-of-fact. 'Just think, if he pulled some of that greasy hair out of his eyes...'

A brief pause. Minerva's ear flicked.

'Yeah, I can see that, maybe,' said Aurora finally. 'But, Sep, don't forget... he's already taken.'

'Oh, that's _right_!' squealed Charity, and the entire room erupted into laughter again.

Minerva was surprised to find that her heart had suddenly doubled its tempo. She wondered what that might mean, and why exactly she was more annoyed when her colleagues gossiped about Severus than about herself.

'Oh, _Merlin_, I thought I was going to die,' gasped Charity, pounding a weak fist on the table once or twice.

'_You_ thought _you_ were going to die?' wheezed Septima. 'I thought _she_ was going to die! I thought he was going to kill her right then and there!'

Minerva bristled again and leapt to her feet. Who exactly were they talking about, this woman, and what had happened between her and Severus?

'Really?' said Rolanda with a slight sneer. 'With a charming personality like his, when do you think a girl – drunk or not – last had the impulse to snog him like that?'

Minerva had had enough; with a whoosh of magic, she found herself in her customary form at the staff room door and pushed it open to let herself in.

'Good evening, ladies,' she said coolly, revelling inwardly at the expressions of slowly-comprehending shock that were spreading across the faces of her colleagues. 'I do hope I'm not disturbing your, er, little get-together?'

Charity, Aurora, and Septima all glanced at Rolanda, and the four witches burst anew into peals of glee. She could have sworn she heard Rolanda mutter under her breath, 'That's it, that's exactly the _stare_...'

'Really, you four,' snapped Minerva, attributing her unusually strong irritation towards her always-silly colleagues to exhaustion and anxiety. 'Is it _at all_ a wise idea to sit about with a few bottles of Ogden's Best, when there's a high probability of Sirius Black bursting through the doors any moment and shooting us all?'

'Aw, M'nerva, let your hair down a bit,' muttered Charity, waving her hand flippantly at the Deputy Headmistress, but allowing a slightly concerned frown to cross her face nonetheless. 'What're you doing in here this late, anyway?'

Septima muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'Off to visit Albus,' and the tipsy witches all broke into giggles once more. Minerva closed her eyes in disdain.

'I had come in to look for some tea bags, if you must know, Charity, although I _do_ believe I have every right to walk the corridors at night, keeping an eye out for any dangerous goings-on around the castle.'

'Yeah... sorry we're no help,' said Septima with a surprising measure of remorse. 'You, ah, didn't hear anything we were saying, did you?'

'More than I wanted to hear,' replied Minerva breezily, crossing the room in a few brisk strides and rummaging about in the basket on the counter near the mugs.

'Like?' There was genuine apprehension in Rolanda's voice.

Minerva bit her tongue, deciding to spare Rolanda a good amount of teasing for another day, and got straight to the point.

'Like something about Severus and – how did you put it, Rolanda? - _snogging_.' Minerva shot a rigid glare over one shoulder at the four guilty faces behind her. 'Pray do explain what may have sparked this discomfiting piece of gossip, or I shall have to go ask Severus myself what you mean.'

'OH, no need for that, Minerva!' interrupted Aurora a bit too loudly, her eyes wide. 'When you didn't turn up at rehearsal last night, well...'

'Well, what?' snapped Minerva in the voice she usually reserved for Harry Potter and his friends when she'd caught them doing something particularly stupid.

'Let's just say your understudy got a bit too enthusiastic with the romantic aspects of the role assigned her,' finished Aurora delicately.

Minerva's jaw clenched angrily.

'And I suppose you're not going to divulge the identity of this interloper?'

The four witches glanced nervously at each other.

'Sybill Trelawney,' Charity finally offered with a small hiccup. Merlin, she knew Minerva couldn't stand the Divination professor, but she hadn't expected Minerva's eyes to flash _quite_ so viciously.

'Indeed,' breathed Minerva, cramming a handful of tea bags into the pocket of her tartan dressing gown. 'Well, I expect you all to be _completely_ sober tomorrow, and if tonight a _hair_ is touched on the head of Harry Potter or any other student at this school – whose safety, you'll recall, has been placed by their parents into _your_ hands – I can assure you,' Minerva paused to glare at them all, 'you will all regret this night to the utmost of my legal power.'

And with that, she turned on one heel and stormed out of the staff room.

'Good grief,' exhaled Septima in unison with the other three professors. 'Something's really brought out the mother lioness in Minerva tonight.'

'Well, think about it,' said Charity slowly. 'You know how she is with her Gryffindors, and she's always been especially protective of Harry... I mean, she's not acting any worse than she usually does when he has one of his near bouts with death, is she?'

'I dunno,' muttered Rolanda, 'but so long as whatever it is keeps her glaring like that, I'd better keep away from the Firewhiskey at staff parties.'

* * *

Minerva didn't even bother transforming back into a cat as she charged back to her office, shouting 'Shoo!' at Mrs Norris as the cat crossed her path again. She nearly got off on the wrong floor, thanks to a shifting staircase, and snapped angrily at Sir Cadogan as he saluted her passing ('Ho, there, fair damsel, might I be honoured with your leave to challenge the scourge responsible for your evident ire?'). Finally, slightly winded and still several hallways from her office, she slowed to a brisk walk and allowed herself to think a bit as she regained her breath.

It was really too careless of her colleagues to be drunk under such circumstances in the first place, but discussing the attractiveness of their peers made the whole matter all the more sordid. Especially Severus... Minerva knew the man well enough to guess that Trelawney's attack would have completely mortified him, and it infuriated her to think that the other professors would take the matter so lightly. Poor Severus. And to be assaulted by Sybill Trelawney, of all people...! Minerva pressed her lips together in a mixture of sympathy for Severus and rage towards the would-be Seer.

Part of her felt terrible because she suspected that Rolanda was right; although she had never paid much mind to the romantic lives of her students, she could not recall Severus having a single significant other through all his time at Hogwarts (other than his close friendship with Lily Evans in their early years, she suddenly thought). She wondered if perhaps Severus _had_ enjoyed being kissed by even a drunken lout like stupid Sybill.

And she suddenly realised that she hoped he hadn't.

It was a ridiculous feeling, and at first Minerva wasn't sure what to make of it. Severus's love life was, of course, absolutely no business of hers; therefore, the jealousy that had flared up in her had to be because Sybill sodding Trelawney was better at tapping into the emotions of her role than she, Minerva, could ever do, alcohol or no. For Merlin's sake, she hadn't even _wanted_ to be Lady Macbeth in the first place, whatever Severus's opinion may have been of the situation, so it was completely absurd for her to be so possessive of... the role. Yes.

Minerva paused and rubbed her brow with one hand. She was too exhausted to think rationally, that was clear enough. Thank goodness the enclosed comfort of her office was only a few paces away.

Not until she had slammed the door of her office behind her, ignited a magical flame under her tea kettle, and settled back into her chair with a sigh, did Minerva notice the note left on her desk, written in a familiar spindly hand:

_I called to see if you would be willing to speak with me some time in the near future. As you were not in, I took the liberty of leaving you a message. I will be up for at least another hour brewing Pepper-Up Potions for Poppy – please do not hesitate to disturb me._

A slight smile flitted across Minerva's face as she slid the note into her desk and glanced at her clock. Nearly three in the morning; Severus would have to wait. Nevertheless, she was glad (yes, glad) that he had called upon her and wanted to speak with her, even if it was about Sirius Black, or (worse) the wretched play. Minerva knew she should probably apologise for having snapped at Severus like she had the last time they'd spoken – misplaced anger meant for Dumbledore, that sounded reasonable enough – and decided that that would have to be enough for the poor man. She was not going to rejoin Albus's little emotional-manipulation-masquerading-as-demure-performance-art, and Severus would just have to get used to Trelawney slurring her way through Shakespeare and clinging to him like a lover...

At the thought, Minerva's mental tirade stuttered to a halt, and an unexpected flush rose through her body, but she shook it off guiltily. She did _not_ want to be forced or cajoled back into her role... _the_ role (she corrected herself), and she certainly did _not_ want to kiss Severus. For one thing, she was too old for that sort of nonsense; for another, she was quite certain the Potions Master regarded her only as a former professor, a current colleague, a friend. Yes, a friend. Septima was much more age-appropriate anyway, and so was Sybill (Minerva grimaced). The matter was closed. But she would talk to him, if he so desired – everyone deserved a fair hearing.

The water in her tea kettle whistled. Minerva tapped it with her wand and poured herself a hot cup of water with one fluid flick of her wrist. Only then did it occur to her that she could have sent for a house-elf to fetch her the tea bags in the first place.

* * *

Pomona espied Severus from across the lawns and bustled over to him, her arms filled with undulating shrubs.

'Help me with some of these?' she asked, placing several into Severus's arms before he could say anything. Severus scowled slightly, but said nothing, and even waited patiently as Pomona waved at Hagrid, who was glumly working at his pumpkin patch.

'Poor fellow,' Pomona sighed heavily as she led the way back towards the castle. 'Hasn't been a jot cheerful since that whole incident with young Draco Malfoy and the Hippogriff.'

Severus opened his mouth to make some snide remark about how the oaf should not have placed his third years in direct contact with Hippogriffs in the first place, but decided it best not to bite the hand that fed him.

'Can't we just levitate these?' he grunted, catching a slipping pot with his thigh as it slid out of his arms.

Pomona shook her head.

'Excessive contact with wizarding magic stresses them, which can dilute their own magical properties,' she explained matter-of-factly. 'Really, Severus, have you forgotten that much from my class?'

Severus bit back another snarky retort.

'Not that I suppose it matters much for you,' Pomona grumbled as she and Severus carefully trudged up the steps of the castle, 'I'm sure your fifth years will have decimated these poor plants in a matter of seconds once they start concocting whatever it is you've assigned them for this afternoon... Anyway, have you spoken to Minerva yet?'

'What?' Severus panted.

'Minerva McGonagall, Severus,' clarified Pomona unnecessarily, as if Severus was well acquainted with a multitude of Minervas. 'I thought you were going to talk to her about... well, the play, and whatever else might be disturbing her...?'

'Been a bit busy,' mumbled Severus, avoiding Pomona's eye. 'Besides, I thought _you_ were her best friend.'

'Even so,' said Pomona delicately, shifting a pot out of harm's way as she pried the doors open, 'in some ways I think you understand her better than I.'

'I haven't a clue what you mean.'

'That sarcastic tone right there, for one,' Pomona noted. 'Minerva and I are close friends, but I don't _think_ like her.'

'Oh, and I suppose you think I do?' Severus pulled his lips back in what may have been a smile but more closely resembled a snarl. 'Because, last I noticed, Minerva McGonagall wasn't a grumpy recluse with a penchant for terrifying students and a shady past as a Death Eater.'

His robe had slipped against the pots he carried so that the Dark Mark on his forearm peeked from beneath his sleeve. Pomona glanced at it with a shudder and averted her eyes quickly.

'On the last count, of course not. But,' Pomona twitched the corners of her mouth into a smile, 'if you look at the rest of your enumerations, you'll find you're not so entirely, er, off the mark.'

Severus sniffed.

'I called upon her yesterday, if you must know.'

'And?'

'She was not in.'

'I see.' Pomona regarded Severus thoughtfully. 'There's no need to avoid her, you know.'

'And who ever said I was avoiding her?' snapped Severus, nearly tripping on the next step down towards the dungeons.

Pomona, taking note of the dangerous tone edging its way into her colleague's voice, decided not to respond.

'Well, that's that, then,' she said, once the pots were all safely placed on one unused desk in the dungeons. 'I suppose I shall see you at dinner, Severus, or else tomorrow. In either event, good luck until then.'

And she marched out of the dungeons before Severus could sort out whether she'd meant his unruly fifth years, or the other situations at hand.

* * *

Minerva was just finishing her marking of Hermione Granger's paper (which, as usual, was exemplary for all its verbosity) when a soft voice from her fireplace made her jump.

'I hope I'm not disrupting anything, Minerva?' said Severus Snape's voice from the flames.

'No, not at the moment,' answered Minerva, tapping the papers strewn across her desk so that they collected themselves into a neat pile. 'Please...'

With a soft whoosh, Severus's form enlarged within the fireplace and stepped out onto the hearth, carelessly brushing a bit of soot off his robes as it did so.

'May I?' he asked, gesturing towards a chair, and he seated himself at Minerva's nod.

An awkward silence passed as Minerva recalled the last time they'd sat here, when Minerva had been such a coward and failed Severus so absolutely. Well, she would not give him any false hopes this time.

'I know why Albus sent you here,' she said quietly, 'and I'm sorry, Severus, but I cannot and will not return to the production.'

'I know,' replied Severus.

Minerva raised an eyebrow. 'Do you, now.'

Severus flashed a fleeting smirk in Minerva's direction. 'Anyone who has observed you long enough knows when your mind is irrevocably made up.'

'Then might I ask why you are sitting here anyway?' Minerva snorted softly. 'Perhaps Albus thinks that some sort of psychic bond has been forged between us through our casting, and that this in itself will recall me to his little experiment?'

'Unlikely,' Severus lied, a twinge of hurt pricking at him upon hearing Minerva's words. 'I merely wanted to talk to you about... whatever has been disturbing you.'

Minerva's spine straightened a bit defensively.

'I apologise for my completely inappropriate behaviour the other night, Severus; I said far more than I intended, and I insist upon leaving the subject there.'

'As I expected,' Severus nodded. His black eyes glistened for a moment as he stared at Minerva, and she briefly wondered if he was about to use Legilimency against her. 'I did not come here tonight to beg you to relate your entire life story to me, Minerva.'

Minerva was about to ask, somewhat impatiently, why exactly Severus was here, but before she could, he spoke again:

'I am here to tell you mine. Or, since you have been present for much of it,' Severus smirked slightly, 'at least to fill in those details to which you have not been privy.'

Severus's voice paused, his uncertainty palpable. Minerva's air lost none of its scepticism, but her eyes softened slightly.

'Go on.'

Severus stared into the fireplace for a few moments, the firelight flickering in the hollows of his gaunt features, seemingly unsure of how to begin.

'A brief tangent, then,' he began after a few moments. 'Call me foolish and brainwashed if you will, but I have not allowed the horrors involved with producing this play to interfere with my enjoyment of Shakespeare's language and theatrical sensibilities. And I am not embarrassed to admit to having read several of his other plays over the course of the past few weeks.'

He glanced casually at Minerva, who seemed to have no intention to laugh at him. When she nodded slightly for him to continue, he did so.

'Our current drama of focus is, of course a tragedy, one of many written by the Bard throughout his life. There are also many comedies and histories, which likewise vary in their calibre and longevity, often according to where they fall chronologically in the canon.'

Minerva's lips twitched slightly – was Severus here to give her a lecture on British theatrical history?

'However,' continued Severus, 'towards the end of his life, Shakespeare wrote four plays which seemed to defy categorisation. While they contain comic elements, in larger quantities than the mere drunken porter or two,' (Severus stiffened slightly as he thought momentarily of Trelawney), 'their premises rest on the resolution of some seemingly insurmountable tragedy. Because a pair of young lovers is often instrumental to this resolution, these plays are referred to as the "romances."'

'Like _Romeo and Juliet_, without the deaths at the end,' Minerva offered. Severus nodded, suspecting he had not been the only one poking his nose into the Bard's complete works more often than necessary. He took a deep breath and continued.

'One of these plays, these tragically-comical romances, is a play called _The Winter's Tale_. Although its plot borders on the absurd, I will outline it in brief for you.'

Severus paused again, as if about to divulge something deeply personal, and an inexplicable chill suddenly rushed up Minerva's spine.

'This story begins with a king who, through insanity or stupidity or sheer insecurity, becomes completely convinced that his wife – the centre of his existence – is in love with another man, a man they have known since childhood. Unable to contain his irrational fury, he first attempts to have the other man killed, and in a fit of lunacy exiles his wife's child to a distant land. The instant he hears that his actions have led to his wife's death, the king suddenly realises his own foolishness and begs for a second chance, but it is too late: those whom he had once loved most in the world are now dead, and the king can never forgive himself for the destruction of his family, so much so that he swears to never love another unless his wife should live again.'

There was a terrible lost look in Severus's eyes, and Minerva wanted to reach out and comfort him, but she found she could not move.

'As it so happens,' Severus continued, 'a prophecy keeps the banished child safe in the distant land, and, after years of being reared under simpletons and fools, the child returns by chance to the king's domain, and there is told the truth by the king and welcomed back as the long-lost heir to the kingdom.' Severus smiled bleakly, never shifting his gaze from the fire. 'In the king's eyes, it means he has a chance of redemption.'

'And what then?' whispered Minerva. 'Is the king able to forgive himself for his mistake?'

Severus remained frozen for a few moments, then shook himself slightly.

'Shakespeare's play has one last act, but that is where my tale ends,' he replied simply. _Because, in the real world, stone statues do not turn into living beings, and I am not a king but merely a half-blood Prince..._

The two sat in silence for a long while, Severus's glistening eyes searching the fire for ghosts he wished would burn to smoke, Minerva staring only at Severus, as if a thin veil of water ran between them and she could only part the surface with her fingers, unsure of how to plunge her entire hand in and grasp at his story's true meaning...

'Well, I have said all I have to say,' said Severus at last, rising slowly to his feet. 'I will not ask you to return to the production, Minerva, although I dare say your presence will be, shall we say, sorely missed by many.'

Minerva opened her mouth to back this statement fully, but then the thought of Sybill Trelawney crossed her mind, and she closed her mouth, looking at Severus in helpless pity. _It's just as hard for you as it is for me, isn't it, Severus..._

'Perhaps not,' she said briefly. 'But do not make any promises to the Headmaster on my behalf, as there is still a tremendous chance I will stand by my earlier word.'

Severus nodded, and Minerva could have sworn she saw a flash of triumph in the Potions Master's dark eyes.

'Good night, then,' he said with a curt nod, and stepped back into the fireplace.

Minerva continued staring at the flickering flames long after Severus's dark shadow had vanished into their midst, unsure of exactly what had just happened, but increasingly convinced that that psychic bond that Severus had so glibly mentioned was not, in fact, real.

* * *

Albus was delighted to find a short but encouraging note from Severus on his desk that evening:

_I have spoken with Minerva, and she has made no explicit statement as to the likelihood of her return to the production. For the moment, I believe it would be best to leave her be and move on to other scenes._

Albus's smile crinkled his eyes, and he glanced up at Fawkes, who chirruped approvingly.

'He's done the nearly unthinkable, hasn't he, Fawkes? Yes, I dare say he does deserve a bit of an interval for the time being, and that I shall give him. Well played, Severus,' Albus said, shaking his head in amusement. 'Very well played.'

* * *

NB: That was a _ridiculously_ over-simplified reduction of _The Winter's Tale_, which is one of my favorite plays of all time (and, incidentally, the source from which JK Rowling pulled the name "Hermione"). I encourage you all to read the actual play so that you can appreciate its poignancy and brilliance; I'm a bit mad at myself for having taken so many liberties in sculpting (I won't exactly say "misrepresenting") its synopsis for the purpose this story.


	8. Introspection

AN UPDATE WHAT IS THIS MADNESS?

Apologies to everyone for a long bout of writer's block (which lasted until two days ago) and a far-too-exciting summer. Sorry that this chapter is, once again, much darker than I'd anticipated... but, as you can see, I've actually re-read the book and am trying to bring things closer in line with the brilliant story JK has already given us. I vow to add quite a bit more levity (and Shakespeare) next chapter...

As always, anything you already recognize is, regrettably, not mine.

* * *

8. Introspection

Minerva watched Harry Potter exit her office, and sighed as he closed the door behind him, wondering as always if she'd done the right thing or not.

Probably not.

Cursing herself, she rose from her desk and tossed a handful of Floo powder into her fireplace.

'Rolanda, are you there?' she said wearily into the flames.

'Sure thing, Min! Be there in half a moment...' came the cheerful reply, and an instant later, the Quidditch professor stepped from the hearth, shaking ashes from her silvery hair.

'What's wrong?' she asked, her cheeky grin fading as she spotted the sombre look on Minerva's face.

Minerva shook her head briskly and strode over to her window so she wouldn't need to watch Rolanda judge her.

'Ro, I think I've just done something incredibly stupid in the name of Quidditch,' she said.

'Well, of course,' snorted Rolanda, dropping into one of Minerva's chairs and folding one leg over the other. 'Don't we all, from time to time? Everyone except Filius, I suppose... never seen a man so good-natured and sensible about sports before...'

'This is _serious_,' snapped Minerva, rounding on Rolanda. 'I just gave Harry permission to continue Quidditch practice.'

'Harry... Potter?'

'_Yes_, Harry Potter, Rolanda, who else?' Minerva turned back to the window in frustration. 'I said he could, despite the fact that Sirius Black just burst into the bloody castle and slashed a painting to shreds for the sake of killing the poor boy.'

'Minerva...'

'And all because he reminded me that our first Quidditch match is this Saturday. Merlin, I'm an idiot... what sort of professor values a win over a student's life?'

A brief pause. Rolanda bounced her foot up and down, regarding the Transfiguration professor's rigid silhouette against the window as she summoned as much tact as she could muster.

'All right, so maybe it wasn't the best idea in the world,' she finally said. 'But you can always go back on it, you know.'

'I know,' grumbled Minerva. 'I know.'

'Well, then?'

'If only I didn't want to win so bloody badly,' groaned Minerva. 'How on earth can we possibly stand a chance of winning if Harry doesn't get a chance to practice? It's not like he can just leap on a broom over the summer and fly about, not with those dreadful Muggles screeching at him all the time...'

'Calm down, Minerva!' said Rolanda, grabbing her agitated colleague by the wrist and directing her towards the chair behind her desk. 'Look, if it'll make you feel better, I'll go watch Gryffindor practice, just to make sure nothing happens.'

Minerva blinked.

'Well, that's good, because that's exactly what I told Harry you'd do,' she said finally. 'Sorry.'

Rolanda was a touch annoyed, but she shrugged nonchalantly.

'Of course,' she said. 'Anything for you, Minerva, my love.' And then she bit her tongue, hoping she hadn't sounded too earnest.

Minerva, however, remained straight-faced and thanked Rolanda firmly.

'Ah, it's only a week, right?' said Rolanda, waving her hand. 'After the match, we can figure out some better means of protecting young Potter while allowing me to go to rehearsal.'

'Oh, yes.' Minerva sighed. 'How has that been going, by the way?'

Rolanda thought back to the night before, when she and Poppy had been laughing so hard at the list of ingredients to be put in their theatrical cauldron that Irma had quite literally thrown her script at her fellow Weird Sisters.

'Splendid,' she said. 'Pity you and Severus are missing out on so much of the fun.'

'Severus?' repeated Minerva sharply. 'Has he not been coming to rehearsal, either?'

Rolanda shrugged.

'I think Albus is letting him off the hook for the time being. Pity, really... he often seems like he really wants to be a part of this production, much as he pretends to despise it.'

'Is that so,' said Minerva softly.

'Well, who really knows what Severus thinks.' Rolanda rose to leave. 'At any rate, you're welcome, and I suppose I'll see you at the Quidditch pitch, if you care to drop by to see how young Mr Potter is doing.'

'Thank you, Rolanda,' said Minerva formally. 'For putting up with my shortcomings, I mean. And for keeping an eye on my Seeker.'

'Not at all, not at all,' said Rolanda, waving the matter aside with a brush of her hand. 'Oh, and Minerva? Don't think I don't know how much you care about that boy. You've referred to him by his first name this entire time, which I haven't heard you do since James and Sirius still were students here.'

And Minerva was left alone in her office, nerves somewhat assuaged but guilt still intact. A sudden impulse nearly compelled her to reach into her desk for her script, but she controlled herself and instead set to work on a syllabus, wishing she could laugh away Sybill Trelawney's Grim predictions as easily as she once had.

* * *

'You called for me, Headmaster?'

Albus glanced up from Fudge's latest blustering letter and waved Severus into his office.

'Just one moment, if you'll forgive me,' he said, quickly skimming the last of the Minister's fretful scribblings. Severus seated himself and awkwardly stared at Fawkes for several moments, scowling as the phoenix cooed contentedly at him.

'Hmm,' said Albus finally, placing the letter down on his desk and rubbing a strand of his beard between his fingers. 'Have you had many dealings with Americans, Severus?'

'Not really, no,' admitted Severus, whose travels had been restricted primarily to Europe.

'The American Secretary of International Magical Affairs will be visiting London this weekend, and the Minister for Magic is torn over whether to serve her traditional British fare or our best imitation of American hamburgers,' the Headmaster explained with an amused smile. 'He seems to think that the latter lacks "class," while the former lacks gastronomic enjoyment.'

Severus snorted.

'Yes, I see his point, too.' Albus reached for a piece of parchment. 'Do you think it's too gauche if I advise him to order takeaway from a local Indian restaurant instead of either?'

Severus quickly ran through a mental list of decent-to-good holes in the wall near Spinner's End, and had to admit he couldn't complain.

'Excellent!' Albus dashed a quick note off in his precise handwriting, slid it into an envelope, and sent it off with a waiting charcoal-gray owl. 'But, of course, I didn't ask you here solely to lend me your opinion on the merits of global cuisines.'

'I assumed as much, Headmaster.'

'Two things, then, Severus, and neither nearly so frivolous as culinary preference, I regret to say.' Albus folded his hands and fixed Severus with an utterly serious look. 'First of all, I know I gave you permission to substitute for Remus while he is unable to teach.'

Severus stiffened.

'Indeed, you did, sir,' he replied cautiously.

'And might I ask the subject of your guest lecture yesterday?'

Albus smiled politely as Severus's mouth hardened into a tight line.

'As _Professor_ Lupin has been focusing primarily on Dark creatures, I thought I would continue the trend,' he said.

'With werewolves?' Albus's tone was light, but his expression was somewhat icy. 'Really, Severus, I do believe that's far past Grindylows and Kappas in the course curriculum.'

Severus, who chose his battles wisely, did not bother to respond.

'I know about the longstanding animosity between you and Remus, Severus,' Albus said in a slightly softer tone. 'But a childhood grudge is no reason to persecute a man who cannot help what he is.'

'I am not _persecuting_ Lupin,' snapped Severus, gripping the arms of his chair.

'You are deliberately trying to expose his condition, which you realise would undoubtedly lead to his forced resignation and social stigmatisation,' said Albus, and Severus cowered ever so slightly in his chair as the Headmaster began to radiate a hint of his intimidating aura. 'Severus, do not think that I am oblivious to how Remus's friends treated you in school. Do not think that I condone the cruelties they inflicted upon you, and do not think that I don't regret not having done more to help you then, even if you would not have wanted or accepted my help. But do not think that my pity will allow me to turn my back as you attempt to undo a man who has felt nothing but remorse for you these past many years, and who never was the one who really hurt you in the first place!'

Severus, grimacing angrily, hated to admit that this was all probably true.

'If it's any consolation, I suspect there is only one student in this entire school who will put two and two together and figure things out,' he countered lamely.

Albus sighed and leaned back in his chair.

'I suspect you're probably right, Severus,' he admitted ruefully, 'and I don't know if it's a good or bad thing at this moment that more students are not like Hermione Granger. But really, Severus, do try to be civil towards Remus, will you? He really can't control how James Potter and Sirius Black behaved once upon a time, any more than he can control what Neville Longbottom most fears in the world.'

Severus inwardly cursed his employer for bringing that humiliating incident up yet again. Albus seemed to realise this, for he offered Severus tea and biscuits, both of which were coldly refused.

'You said there was something else you wished to discuss, Headmaster?' said Severus woodenly.

'Ah, yes. That.' Albus poured himself a cup of steaming tea and selected a Ginger Newt from his plate of biscuits. 'Considering all of the attention that has been turned on Minerva's incomplete reconciliation with this whole play matter, I thought we might step back a few paces and examine the work's emotional impact from a different angle.'

'Oh?' Severus raised an eyebrow, sensing danger.

'You, Severus,' elucidated Albus, taking a small bite of his biscuit. 'I wanted to ensure that this whole process hasn't been too emotionally taxing on you.'

'Other than having to play caretaker during Minerva's sudden bouts of histrionics, and undergoing a considerable dose of nausea every time I'm told I've murdered someone new, not at all,' sneered Severus, in the least-charitable mood towards Dumbledore at this moment that he had been in a long while. He was surprised, therefore, to see the old wizard's brow furrow in concern.

'I had feared as much,' he sighed. 'You know, Severus, you don't have to do this.'

Severus stared.

'I don't understand.'

'Go through with this performance, I mean.'

Sometimes, the ever-sarcastic Potions Master had extreme difficulty discerning when the Headmaster was being serious, and this was one of those moments – yet Dumbledore looked as grave as ever he had when discussing the Dark Lord with Severus.

'But why would you offer me a way out of this, when you've been so adamant about Minerva staying in?' he asked, more curious to hear how Albus would respond than anything else.

'Well, I'd say it's mainly a confluence of circumstance and personality, in either situation,' Albus said slowly. 'If the play enrages Minerva, it is I and I alone on whom she shall expend her wrath, and rightfully so... although I imagine Sybill may receive the few remaining scraps of ire she does not direct towards me.'

Severus scowled again at the mention of the Divination professor.

'I therefore consider it absolutely safe to keep Minerva in this production, as at worst, she will be angry with me for quite some time and boycott rehearsals, and at best, she will reach some peaceful resolution with both me and herself, and deliver an admirable performance consequently.'

Albus's eyes were twinkling in that devious way of his. It annoyed Severus to no end.

'You, on the other hand, Severus, are under a large amount of stress from many sources and – please do not take this the wrong way – have a well-known tendency to channel your frustration with the world in the direction of those you do not like, regardless of whether or not they are the cause of your anxiety, as I'm sure Harry Potter would be able to confirm quite readily.'

'Oh, so you're telling me to piss off to keep me from hurting poor Potter's pathetic feelings?' Severus rolled his eyes, on the verge of pushing himself out of his chair and storming out.

'In part, yes. But, more importantly, Severus, I am worried that you will direct an untoward amount of anger inwards, and do yourself serious harm in the process.'

Severus halted his progress out of his chair and slowly returned to a fully-seated position.

'Clearly, you do not exercise Legilimency as frequently as you might, Headmaster,' he said quietly. 'Whatever else you may think of me, I am confronted with my past every day, and I do not look upon it with any pride.'

'I see no reason to use Legilimency when I can merely ask how you are feeling, and expect an honest answer,' said Albus gently. 'I understand that this play may unearth more familiar sensations than you may wish to recall from your past, Severus, and if it becomes at all damaging to you, I want you to promise me you'll tell me without delay so I can call this whole operation off.'

'And have half of my colleagues at my throat because they won't get their moment in the spotlight?' Severus snorted. 'Unlikely.'

'Your psychic well-being takes precedence, Severus,' said Albus seriously. 'Please.'

'Very well.' Severus shifted in his chair a bit and regarded Fawkes again until the bird's unnervingly amiable gaze forced him to turn away. 'But I don't see why a play that highlights the worst moments of my sordid and distant past could possibly do me any good for the future.'

Albus laughed kindly.

'Severus, the very fact that you bother to draw the distinction between who you were then, and who you are now, speaks volumes in itself for how a bit of comparative reflection can clarify one's sense of self. Besides, surely you've enjoyed getting to speak to some of your colleagues on a level completely void of academics?'

Severus shrugged almost imperceptibly, thinking he would rather snog a Flobberworm than admit how fascinated he was by Pomona's accounts of Minerva's tragic history.

'Hmm,' said Albus thoughtfully, once again making Severus feel as though more had been communicated than was said. 'Well, this has been enough soul-searching for one day, I suppose, and if you're absolutely sure you're feeling emotionally comfortable with the continuation of this play, I see no reason why you shouldn't go enjoy the rest of your day outside my office.'

'Thank you, sir,' grumbled Severus, rising from his chair at long last.

'But, Severus,' added Albus as a calculated afterthought, 'if you get a chance to check in on Minerva, I'd appreciate knowing how much her stance on this Shakespearean matter has changed over the past few weeks.'

Severus allowed his mouth to twitch into the faintest of smiles, bowed as a means of response, and departed in a swoosh of black robes. However, when he arrived in the dining hall shortly thereafter, the seas of scarlet and yellow that seared his eyes reminded him that Gryffindor and Hufflepuff had a long-anticipated Quidditch match in an hour; and this, of course, meant that Minerva's attention would be narrowly focused on athletics for the rest of the day at the least. Sipping the last of his coffee, Severus smirked as he wondered what sort of entertaining admonitions he could expect Lee Jordan to receive from his Head of House at today's match, and as the rest of the school filed out into the rain towards the Quidditch pitch, he followed suite.

* * *

'Get out of my way, GET OUT OF MY WAY!'

Never before had Severus heard the Deputy Headmistress's naturally authoritative tone permeated by the frantic sharpness – almost fear – that he now perceived as they elbowed their way through the crowds of gawking students. Panting slightly, he skidded to a halt behind Minerva as they emerged into the clearing where Harry Potter's body slowly fell to the Quidditch pitch, as if through water.

'Albus...' gasped Minerva as she squelched her way through the mud towards the Headmaster.

'Stay back, Minerva,' said Albus in a commanding voice as he waved his wand slowly in a circle, then whipped it towards the sea of Dementors gliding towards them. With a _boom!_ like a forcefield exploding, a wall of silver slammed into the Dementors, which fled like cockroaches from a lightbulb.

Severus shook his head and vowed to remember that the cheerful old man who was willing to play therapist for individuals such as himself in spare moments also happened to be the world's most powerful wizard.

'Harry!' muttered Minerva, seemingly oblivious to the display of power just demonstrated before her very eyes. She dashed forward and fell to her knees next to the boy's prone body in the damp grass. 'Is he at all hurt? Does he need any immediate attention?'

'Not that I can see right now, Minerva.' Dumbledore's face was grave. 'But I think it's best if we bring him up to the Hospital Wing and let Poppy examine him as soon as possible.'

And with that, he lifted Harry gently onto a conjured stretcher and began striding back towards the castle, the mass of gaping students parting before him. Minerva stared for about four seconds before following in his wake.

'Severus! Have you seen...?' Poppy slid to a halt before Severus in the wet grass, clutching her dripping hat to her head, and followed his gaze to where the two professors were removing her patient. 'Oh, thank Merlin, he's already in the hands of competent beings,' she muttered, dashing off without another word to the already-annoyed Potions Master, who decided he'd best be on hand if any complex Potions work was needed.

Meanwhile, Poppy had caught up to Albus and Minerva as they hurried through the front doors of the castle, their shoes slipping on the stone stairwells. Portraits murmured and whispered as they passed, and Severus, several steps behind, distinctly heard one of them groan, 'Oh, not _him_ again...'

'Over here,' ordered Poppy, pushing open the doors of the Hospital Wing before her and smoothing down the covers of a bed on which Albus carefully lowered Harry. He stood back as Poppy quickly began bustling about with a generic medical examination.

'No signs of lasting trauma or shock, good,' she muttered, pulling Harry's eyelid open, then running her wand over the length of his body to check for broken bones. 'No physical damage done at all, in fact; he seems to have fainted from an overload of negative psychological pressure... but, Merlin, I've never seen anything like this before, the way those monsters affect him. It'll be difficult to assess exactly how his mental state is until he comes to, and until then, there's really nothing we can do for him.'

'Couldn't you at least dry him off?' Minerva snapped, gesturing towards Harry's wet clothes. 'For goodness sake, he'll catch pneumonia in no time at all in this drafty old castle.'

'Yes, yes, Minerva, stop fretting,' said Poppy absent-mindedly, taking Harry's glasses from his nose and setting them folded on the bed stand. 'He hasn't suffered any serious damage. I think he'll be fine.'

The door to the Hospital Wing burst open and in flew two more soaked figures.

'Professor, if there's anything, anything at all we can do to help...'

'Is he doing OK? I mean, your spell kept him from seriously hurting himself, right...?'

'So far, no serious lasting harm seems to have been done,' smiled Albus reassuringly, putting a comforting hand on each of the students' shoulders as they regained their breath. The slight aura of pulsating rage that had emanated from him the entire walk to the Infirmary had dissolved into his grandfatherly persona nearly instantaneously; _quite a performance_, Severus noted wryly to himself. 'According to Madam Pomfrey, we just need to wait for Harry to come to, nothing more than that.'

'Yes, Weasley, Granger, perhaps you two should leave until then,' added Minerva tersely. 'There's really nothing you can do for Potter right now.'

'But, Professor...'

'I'm sure Madam Pomfrey will let you in momentarily, as soon as she's done tending to Potter,' she said much more gently, and Ron and Hermione contented themselves with that. 'And kindly tell the Gryffindor Quidditch team to stay out for the moment, as well!' she shouted after them as they departed.

Severus smirked. If there was one thing Poppy Pomfrey hated, it was having students crowd up her Hospital Wing while she was trying to work.

'Well, Poppy, if I'm not needed further, I have some business with the Dementors to attend to,' said Albus, his anger flaring again. 'I shall see you later.'

'Albus,' called Minerva after him, and he turned as she took a few urgent steps forward. 'Do you know why...?'

'I can only assume it's because he has experienced such horrors at such a young age, and especially because he has so few happy memories of the early years of his life to stave the bad ones off,' reasoned Albus with the faintest hint of guilt lacing the latter part of his statement. 'I think both of you can imagine what it would be like to experience a Dementor attack of that magnitude without a lifetime of experience in dealing with them.'

Minerva shut her eyes, a slight shiver shaking her frame. Severus felt goosepimples rising along his arms that had nothing to do with the fact he was soaked through. His point made, Albus nodded and left.

'Ah, Severus, while you're here, could you brew me some of the strongest Pepper-Up Potion you can make?' asked Poppy as she re-entered the Infirmary with a tray of chocolate and deposited it on Harry's bed stand. 'And quickly, too, so Potter will have it on hand if he needs it.'

'Certainly,' sighed Severus, who was really becoming a bit tired of catering to Potter's every need. 'I believe Hagrid still has a few of the ingredients I requested he replenish the last time he went to Diagon Alley.'

'I'll go get them,' said Minerva in a shaky voice, casting a last furtive look at Harry before quickly moving from the Hospital Wing. Only a few seconds later did Severus realise that he had not told Minerva what ingredients he lacked.

Out in the corridor, the Gryffindor Quidditch team huddled in a muddy mass, anxiously trying to peer in through the door until Severus's hasty exit prompted their retreat. Filius was solemnly handing a wide-eyed Hermione Granger a bundle of what looked like sticks wrapped in a cloth; Severus ignored the tiny Charms professor's attempt to halt him for information. The rain was pounding as hard as ever, and had Severus not spotted Minerva's tabby form slink out the massive doors of the Great Hall, he never would have spotted her progress towards Hagrid's hut through the sheet of gray water that obscured his view. Lacking such a compact form, he resorted to trudging through the sloshy grass with his charmed cloak wrapped protectively about himself, grumbling as he went.

As usual, Severus _meant_ to simply knock on the front door and make his presence known, but an old and destructive habit made him pause before he did so. And, predictably, the conversation he heard from inside Hagrid's hut sounded far too interesting to interrupt so soon.

'No, no, Hagrid, I just dropped by to get the potions ingredients Severus said you'd picked up for him, that's all... although, Merlin, I never even bothered to ask him what they were...'

'Ah, 's all right, Professor,' grunted Hagrid in a voice thick with recent tears. 'He'll be down soon enough teh get 'em himself, then. Wan' some tea or summat, 'fore yeh go back up ter the castle?'

'Oh! Well, only if you don't mind, Hagrid.'

'Of course not... was just puttin' some on the fire.'

Severus distinctly heard Hagrid tap the kettle with what sounded like the end of a pink umbrella, and rolled his eyes.

'Scone?'

'No, thank you, tea's just fine.'

' 'Scuse me, Professor,' rasped Hagrid with a hearty sniff. ' 'M a bit shaken up by what just happened out there. Any news on how he's doin'?'

'He'll... he'll be fine, Poppy says.' Minerva suddenly sounded as though she too had a terrible head cold.

'Of course he will,' grunted Hagrid. 'If I ever knew a kid ter survive brushes with death, it's Harry. He's escaped a Basilisk, an' You-Know-Who twice now, an' it'll take more 'n a Dementor or Sirius Black teh do him any harm, Professor.'

'Of course,' agreed Minerva, and then she burst into tears.

Had Severus not been so flabbergasted, he might have enjoyed imagining the bewildered look on Hagrid's face at this moment. As it was, a loud squawk and a rustle of feathers from the far end of the room seemed to have momentarily given Hagrid an excuse to leave Minerva a wide berth.

'Tha's all right, Beaky... 'ere, have a scone, yeh good boy.'

Severus rolled his eyes again. Why the hell had Hagrid brought that bloody Hippogriff into his personal living space?

For Buckbeak the Hippogriff was indeed sitting on Hagrid's bedspread, clacking his beak impatiently and regarding Minerva's self-conscious emoting with a beady eye.

'I'm sorry, Hagrid,' sniffed Minerva. 'I really didn't mean to come here and...'

'Nah, don' apologise to me, Professor,' said Hagrid graciously, taking the whistling kettle off the fire and pouring Minerva a steaming cup of tea. 'Yeh've been havin' a nervewrackin' day, yeh deserve it.'

'This is all my fault, Hagrid,' groaned Minerva, burying her face in her hands. 'I told him he could practice with the team; against my better judgement, I let him play this match in the hopes that Gryffindor would win.'

'Yeah, well.' Hagrid seated himself with a sympathetic exhalation and offered Minerva his large spotted handkerchief. 'Yeh couldn't've known what would happen. Not even Dumbledore thought they'd disobey his orders, Professor, an' he...'

'Oh, stop calling me "Professor," Hagrid, _you're_ a professor now,' snapped Minerva, dabbing at her eyes with the handkerchief.

'Not fer much longer, more 'n likely,' said Hagrid sadly, glancing towards Buckbeak.

'Don't say things like that.' Minerva tried to sound angry, but a touch too much pity edged its way into her voice.

'Well, it just goes ter show that we all make stupid mistakes sometimes.' Hagrid sighed. Minerva impulsively reached across the table and laid one of her hands on his comparatively huge fist.

'You know, I've often thought back to that night we left him with his relatives,' she said softly. 'I've wondered if there was some way we could have convinced Albus to let us keep him within the magical community, away from all the abuse he suffered throughout his childhood. Would it have lessened the effect those horrors have on him? I don't know. But I suppose I always liked to believe that if we'd been there, keeping a more vigilant eye on him, things would have turned out better. And now...' She sniffed, withdrawing her hand. 'Well, let's just say I'm now much less confident in my ability to make good decisions for Harry's well-being.'

She took a sip of her tea, which was surprisingly pleasant. Hagrid set his own cup down and stared into it as intently as though he were reading tea leaves.

'Yeh know that motorbike I was ridin' the night I brought him ter the Dursleys?' he said quietly.

'Sirius's. Of course I remember.'

'He wanted me teh give him Harry. An' I was this close teh doin' it, Minerva. If Dumbledore hadn't told me I _had_ ter bring Harry to his aunt and uncle's, I probably would've. I thought abou' everythin' yer sayin' right now all night long, but by the next mornin'... I've trusted Dumbledore an' Dumbledore alone when it comes to Harry, ever since.'

Minerva let out another great sob, her shoulders convulsing.

'Yes, but... but, I _knew_ what I was doing was wrong, Hagrid. And Sirius... _no-one_ would have believed it about Sirius until it happened. I certainly...'

Hagrid waited patiently while she blew her nose again in his tablecloth-sized handkerchief.

'You remember him at Hogwarts, Hagrid.'

'Yeah.' The ghost of a laugh quivered through Hagrid's massive frame. 'Not the sort of bloke one could easily ferget, Sirius Black. I remember yeh always liked 'em both, Professor, him and James Potter.'

'Yes. Yes, I did.'

'Yeh know,' said Hagrid pensively, 'he – Sirius – always reminded me of...' He paused.

'What?'

'Well, he always reminded me a bit of yer husband, Professor,' finished Hagrid apologetically.

Minerva looked down at her cup.

'Yes. Yes, he did.'

A long silence ensued during which Severus practically pressed his ear into the wooden frame of the door in his attempts to hear what else was being said, and, in the process, lost his balance on the slippery stoop and accidentally banged his fist against the door.

'That'll be Professor Snape,' grunted Hagrid, pushing his chair back.

'But Harry will be fine,' said Minerva, her customary crispness regained with only a hint of lachrymose remaining. 'Poppy says the worst is that he might be a bit mentally turned-about when he regains consciousness, but there's very little we can do except feed him chocolate and hope he's not too adversely affected by any negative memories this might have stirred up.'

'Good evenin', Professor Snape,' said Hagrid, pulling open the door just as Severus had steadied himself in a standing position. Then, turning back towards Minerva, he added, 'I think that's wha' Shakespeare'd call "ministerin' to himself," Professor McGonagall.'

'What?' Minerva asked, nonplussed.

Hagrid, looking pleased, gave Severus a significant look, as did Buckbeak, who stared unblinkingly at the Potions Master from huge yellow eyes. Severus cleared his throat.

' "Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased,' he began haltingly, gaining in intensity as he went. 'Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, / Raze out the written troubles of the brain / And with some sweet oblivious antidote / Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff / Which weighs upon the heart?" '

He stopped, slightly embarrassed, but Minerva was looking at him, impressed.

'I realised after you left that I had not told you what ingredients I lacked,' he added in his normal blasé tones to Minerva.

'Which is why I assumed you would follow me, eventually,' replied Minerva briskly, eyeing Severus slightly suspiciously.

The rain had subsided by the time Severus had collected what he needed from Hagrid's hut and they had said their goodbyes (Minerva's being considerably warmer than Severus's). Wands aloft, the two professors levitated several bags of potions goods before them as they made their way up the hill.

'May I ask how much you heard before you knocked, Severus?' asked Minerva curtly, and so suddenly that Severus nearly stopped in his tracks.

'Some,' he replied ambiguously.

'Hm. I'm more curious as to _why_ you would bother listening, Severus, considering how little we older professors really have to hide, besides our sentimentality. Goodness knows I've listened to my fair share of conversations behind doors – I can't fault you for that.'

Minerva was glad it was dark so that Severus would not see her blush slightly over her last overheard staffroom chat.

Severus was rather taken aback, but amassed his wit in time to shoot back, 'Is that so? Even when curiosity so notoriously killed the cat?'

Minerva snorted.

'Pomona told me about your family and what happened,' Severus admittedly suddenly.

'Yes, I suspected as much,' said Minerva without even turning to look at him.

'Really.'

'I admit, it was a very, very small factor in my determination to beat Hufflepuff this match. She really had no business telling you that.'

'I apologise.'

'No need, Severus. You probably would have learned about that sorry chapter in my past at some point, anyway.'

'Perhaps.' Severus slipped a bit on the grass; Minerva caught him by the elbow. 'What made you suspect she'd told me?'

Minerva laughed briefly.

'One usually doesn't bare one's own soul to another person without having a reasonably good idea of what that other person might think. I think the same might apply to personal histories.'

'Arguably, we could all use therapists,' smirked Severus.

'What?'

'The people Muggles hire to minister to a mind diseased,' Severus explained. They had reached the castle's doors by this point and crossed into the Entrance Hall in silence. 'I think I can take everything from here.'

'Very well. Good night, Severus.'

'Good night. And Hagrid's right, Minerva. Potter's skull is so thick, I'm sure nothing has been permanently damaged.'

'Oh, you...' Minerva aimed a playful kick at Severus's leg as he headed down the hall, then headed hastily up the staircase towards the Hospital Wing to ensure that Severus was correct.


	9. Motivation

Well. It's been ages since I've last updated this story, but BEHOLD! here is a reasonably long update for you. Again, thanks to all of you who have been willing to put up with my very slow progress; I promise you this story will actually be finished one day, and I will not abandon it before then!

By the way, preemptive apologies for the "Rime of the Ancient Mariner" reference, especially to all those students who enjoyed that poem as little as I did.

As always, I own the rights to no-one and nothing in this story.

* * *

9. Motivation

'No, no, NO, Rolanda! For Merlin's sake, could you at least _pretend_ you're taking this seriously?'

Snow fell silently over the weakly-lit grounds of Hogwarts outside, but inside the Headmaster's Office, Irma slammed her script on the table and glowered at Rolanda, who was chucking at Poppy a number of chestnuts she had just Transfigured out of some scraps of wadded newspaper at which she'd been tearing all rehearsal. Fawkes, meanwhile, was trilling happily from his perch and catching the occasional chestnut that Rolanda threw his way.

'I am taking this seriously, Irma! "But in a sieve I'll thither sail / And, like a rat without a tail, / I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do," ' quoted Rolanda in a melodramatic voice, throwing a chestnut at the glowering Healer with each repetition.

'Rolanda, must you really act like a five-year-old the instant the Headmaster leaves his office?' snapped Poppy as a chestnut bounced off her shoulder.

'I'm _bored_, Poppy,' whinged Rolanda, lying down over the length of several chairs along the curved wall. 'Honestly, there's virtually _nothing_ to do around here during the winter for a Quidditch referee and flying teacher.'

'Well, you certainly don't need to take it out on Poppy or the rest of us,' fumed Irma. 'Rolanda, I know it might be inconceivable to you that at least a few human beings on this earth care about perfection in more arenas than just your Wonky Faints and other silly manoeuvres, but I want this to a be a _quality_ production, do you hear?'

'Oh, let's just face it, you two,' said Rolanda loudly, 'there isn't going to BE a production. If you hadn't noticed, we've lost the two stars of our show, and our fearless leader seems to have no interest in replacing them.'

'She has a point,' Poppy grumbled. 'Why hasn't Albus just called all this off, Irma?'

'I don't know,' admitted the Librarian in a wrathful whisper. 'But until he does, I expect you to behave like a reasonable adult, Rolanda, and if you don't, I swear I'll…'

What exactly Irma had in mind for her juvenile colleague was interrupted precisely that moment by a loud knocking on the office door. The three witches exchanged annoyed glances.

' "Open, locks, whoever knocks," ' muttered Poppy.

' "Knock, knock; who's there?" you mean,' suggested Irma as Rolanda rolled off the bank of chairs and answered the door. The room fell silent as Severus Snape walked calmly into the room and regarded the three witches coolly.

' "A drum, a drum! / Macbeth doth come," ' announced Rolanda finally in cheeky satisfaction. 'I say, there are a lot of dramatic arrivals at various doors throughout this play, aren't there?'

'Good evening, Severus,' said Irma cautiously, as if afraid of scaring the Potions Master away. 'I'm afraid the Headmaster isn't in at the moment, if you were hoping to speak with him about something…'

Severus raised an eyebrow.

'Not at all, Irma. I merely thought that this was the allotted time for rehearsal tonight,' he explained smoothly, ignoring the fact that Poppy had just elbowed Rolanda none too gently in the ribs. 'Although I see we don't have our full cast present…'

'Albus told Remus he need not come,' Irma explained hastily. 'It hasn't been doing Remus much good to be here when you aren't, considering most of his dialogue is between him and you…'

'Well, I'm here now,' said Severus icily, taking a seat apart from the others. 'Carry on with – whatever you've been doing,' he added with a pointed glance towards the chestnuts scattered across the floor. 'I will join in when you need me.'

For the life of him, Severus couldn't figure out why he had ended up in Dumbledore's office for rehearsal in the first place. It hadn't exactly been a conscious decision, and yet here he was, as if his feet had carried him up the stairs of the tower of their own accord. It took Severus a few moments of watching Irma flail her arms at Rolanda and Poppy in the utmost exasperation before he realised that he'd missed all of this, damn it; the sheer insanity, if nothing else. It gave him a sort of delirious high to be surrounded by this bizarre artistic space, in which pretty much anything could happen and it all meant everything emotionally, even if the substance of the matter was nothing in the end. That was the danger of people ceasing to be themselves, he supposed, that they lost all restraint and did inconceivably stupid things – but at least it was a safe environment. Safer than losing his identity under a Death Eater's hood, at any rate.

'You know what the problem is, Irma?' complained Rolanda loudly. 'I don't understand half of what I'm saying in this scene. It doesn't make much logical sense.'

'What you _say_ isn't nearly as important as what you _do_!' snapped Irma as Poppy backed gingerly out of the way. 'The witches don't make sense – that's the point of them! They speak in riddles and play with people's minds. _That's_ what you're doing in this scene; you're saying you're going to drive this man insane Coleridge-style, through letting him drift about on the sea, unable to find land and yet unable to die in the storms!'

'Just because his wife wouldn't give Ro her chestnuts?' asked Poppy reasonably. 'That punishment seems a bit harsh for the crime.'

'And what in Merlin's name does "Coleridge-style" mean?' added Rolanda sullenly.

'THAT'S THE POINT!' Irma roared at Poppy, who (to her credit) barely blinked. 'We are NOT playing rational beings. We destroy people's lives _for fun_ – can you understand that?'

Rolanda violently tore off another strip of newspaper and was about to wad it up into another would-be chestnut when something made her pause, then let the un-Transfigured strip of paper drift slowly to the ground.

'Let's just run it again, all right?' she said finally, her eyes still on the paper scrap on the floor. Irma nodded jerkily and gestured for Rolanda to begin.

' "Where hast thou been, sister?" '

' "Killing swine," ' replied Poppy.

Severus felt a hand on his shoulder. Albus Dumbledore had slipped quietly back into his office and seated himself next to Severus.

'I see you're back,' the old wizard said, twinkling.

'So it would seem,' replied Severus neutrally.

'Well, I'm glad to see it.' Albus smiled. 'You haven't convinced Minerva to return yet, have you?'

Severus opened his mouth to reply, but just then Irma emitted a shriek.

'Ro!'

'What did I do _now_?' groaned Rolanda.

'I have no idea, but whatever it was, do it again!' Irma was positively beaming with a sort of feverish excitement.

'What?' Rolanda stared at her, aghast.

'From "A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap," how about,' said Irma, sitting down to watch.

Rolanda opened her mouth, hesitated, and then began to speak the speech with a sort of intense, manic, eerie fervour that seemed familiar to Severus, but which he could not quite place:

A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap,  
And munch'd, and munch'd, and munch'd:-  
'Give me,' quoth I:  
'Aroint thee, witch!' the rump-fed ronyon cries.  
Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master o' the Tiger:  
But in a sieve I'll thither sail,  
And, like a rat without a tail,  
I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do.

Rolanda stopped, confused that Irma hadn't screamed at her by now.

'Well _now_ will you tell me what I've done wrong?' she asked with premature defensiveness.

'That was… that was very good, Rolanda,' said Irma, gaping slightly. 'Merlin, what came over you?'

'I mean, I…' Rolanda glanced at Severus, then down at the ground.

'Oh, spit it out, Ro,' said Poppy eagerly. 'If it's something that can be learned, I certainly want to take a crack at it!'

Rolanda looked quickly at Severus again, then away. At just that moment, though, the door swung open and Minerva entered the office.

'Oh!' she said in slightly awkward surprise. 'I'm sorry to disturb you all… Albus, I just thought I should let you know that the Minister for Magic's just sent an owl to let us know he's arrived at Hogsmeade.'

'Thank you, Minerva,' said Albus graciously. 'I think we're just catching on to something fundamental with this rehearsal, though… Rolanda's had a bit of a revelation.'

'Oh, really?' Minerva saw Severus aim a quick half-smile in her direction from behind the Headmaster, and she returned it.

'I don't know if you'd really call it _that_, Albus,' snorted Rolanda. 'I just…' She paused, ran a hand through her hair, and sighed.

'Yes?' Poppy said.

'Blimey, this is going to sound weird,' muttered Rolanda. 'But when I tore that last strip of _The Prophet_ off, there was a profile on Dark witches and wizards in Azkaban on the cover, and… well, Sirius Black was on it, of course, but d'you remember his cousin, Bellatrix?'

'Sadly, yes,' muttered Irma, who vividly recalled how Bellatrix Black had incinerated at least one Hogwarts library book a full decade before she had begun doing the same to human beings.

'Well,' continued Rolanda, 'there was a photograph of her there as well and… and something about it just made me wonder if I could seem so evil, if I tried to act like her.'

'If you tried to act like her?' repeated Poppy in a hushed and slightly horrified voice.

'Sounds silly, I know, but…' Rolanda stared at the floor resolutely, her hands uncharacteristically clasped before her. 'But I sat in on part of her trial, back when they first caught her, because my nephew was one of the people she… well, I saw her. And it seemed like she was… I don't know, an embodiment of everything that was hateful in the world. She was the sort of person who killed for fun. And I just thought, maybe I could try to capture some of that,' she finished lamely, glancing up at Irma as if unsure whether to expect mockery or approval.

A brief silence filled the room. Then Poppy tentatively made her way forward and put a comforting hand around Rolanda's shoulders.

'And you did,' the Healer said fiercely. 'We all could feel it. Here, Ro, you'd better sit down… I think I brought some chocolate with me, where did I put that…?'

Albus shot a glance at a still-dumbstruck Irma, who shrugged helplessly with an unquestioning smile.

'I think we'll take a slight break,' he said diplomatically, standing. 'And, Severus, as I'm sure Remus has already made plans for his afternoon, you might as well not waste yours standing by. I do hope I shall see you back at rehearsal in two days' time, though?'

Severus responded with one curt nod. Had he not been watching, he never would have noticed Minerva's face change slightly, almost imperceptibly; as usual, he had no idea what that meant.

'Splendid!' said Albus, clapping his hands. 'Well, I told Irma I'd block out my afternoon for rehearsal with our fictitious witches, and I don't want to have to renege on my promise… would you two be so kind as to distract Cornelius for an hour or two?'

'You're going to brush off the Minister for Magic for the sake of a rehearsal?' said Minerva in mild disbelief, folding her arms.

'It's not very good form, I admit, but alas,' sighed Albus, 'I can't rearrange my entire schedule just because an old friend arrives several hours earlier than he had anticipated. Off you go, with my deepest thanks.'

Minerva rolled her eyes as she turned towards the door, and Severus, smirking, followed her out.

'Only Dumbledore could ever make the head of government wait for so long, and sound so incredibly blasé about it all,' she scoffed as soon as they'd emerged from the spiral staircase onto the main corridor.

'Don't tell me you're overly eager to go, er, "distract" Cornelius Fudge?' snorted Severus.

'Merlin. I'd rather give myself the 24-hour stomach flu and stay in here, sick as a Crup – hasn't anyone invented a poisonous pasty that does that, yet?'

'Perish the thought,' sneered Severus. 'Imagine all the skiving that would go on around here. Why don't you just remind the Headmaster that you're an autonomous being and you _won't_ play hostess for Fudge?'

'Because I'm Deputy Headmistress, Severus – it's my job to keep things running smoothly around here whenever Dumbledore is being too capricious or unreasonable to care,' snapped Minerva. 'Besides, _you're_ a fine one to talk, letting him rope you back in like that.'

Severus said nothing. Minerva was too irritated to notice.

'Well, the students are all at Hogsmeade,' she reasoned aloud. 'Maybe we can take him along for a cup of tea at the Three Broomsticks. Or something stronger,' Minerva added after a brief moment of reflection, frowning.

'I'm afraid I will not be including myself in that "we," Minerva.'

'Oh?' Minerva shot him a look of annoyance. 'Believe me, Severus, Cornelius Fudge and I have known each other for a long time, virtually all of which has been spent masking our mutual dislike under a veneer of civility. He is one of the last people I want to spend a beautiful winter afternoon with, and I hope you won't make the experience even worse by abandoning me?'

'As fraught with dislike as your civility may be, at least he bothers acting civil towards you in the first place. If the Headmaster is not present, Fudge has a tendency to pretend that I do not exist, unless he happens to be sniffing at me in disapproval.'

'Dolt,' muttered Minerva. 'He always was close-minded, no wonder he and Umbridge were always so cosy…'

Severus had no idea what Minerva was talking about, so he kept quiet as they neared the entrance hall.

'So you went back,' Minerva said suddenly. It was not an accusation, but Severus still felt slightly stung.

'I did.'

'And I suppose you're not going to tell me why?'

'As you saw today, it seems we can all learn something about human nature from stepping outside ourselves.' Severus shrugged.

'Hm.' Minerva stopped and perused Severus like an incomprehensible script for a long moment.

'He wants you to give it another go, Minerva.' Severus had no idea why he was telling Minerva this, since Dumbledore wasn't exactly opaque about his wishes, but then he surprised himself. 'I'd appreciate it if you would, as well.'

Minerva opened her mouth to respond but seemed to forget what she had intended to say.

'Severus, what…?'

'I know it won't necessarily be a _fun_ experience for either of us, per se,' continued Severus, words spilling out of him at an uncharacteristically rapid pace, 'but it's a challenge to be overcome. And I'm willing to try, at least, but only if you'll consider soldiering through it, too.'

'It's not very kind of you to issue that sort of ultimatum to me,' Minerva fired back. 'Severus, I know how much you want to be a part of this, but I…'

'… don't realise how much you need it.' Severus couldn't believe what he was saying, nor that he was saying it; he only knew that it was true, and that Minerva needed to hear it. 'There are… events from my past that I've consciously suppressed. I don't look forward to reliving them, by any stretch of the imagination, but I will, and I hope I will be a better man for it.'

'Severus,' said Minerva, almost pityingly, 'I understand that you… we… all need to exorcise our own demons in some way, but I'm not sure that _catharsis_ is the right way to go about it.'

The two had stopped in the entrance hall and stood facing each other, eyes locked in a battle of wills that extended beyond their words. Only when the great front doors banged open, admitting a rosy-cheeked Cornelius Fudge (shaking snow off his lime green bowler hat) in loud conversation with Pomona and Hagrid, did Severus shake himself.

'Very well,' he said, watching warily as the others approached. 'But keep in mind, Minerva, that Boggarts would rattle around in their closets forever, if no-one dared to face them.'

With one sour look at Fudge, Severus turned and swept away from Minerva just as Pomona reached her side.

'Minerva?' Pomona asked gently. She cautiously put a hand on the shoulder of the witch who had frozen in place, staring dazedly after the Potions Master, and Minerva's attention instantly snapped back to the present.

'Minister,' she said with a tight-lipped smile, extending a hand. 'What a pleasure to see you again. The Headmaster is, regrettably, occupied until dinner, when he thought you'd be arriving; might _we_ take you back down to the village for a short while, in the interim…?'

* * *

Albus was unsurprised when Minerva appeared in his office about an hour after Fudge had left. (He almost wondered if it was a sign that he and Minerva had known each other for too long, that he could anticipate when she'd drop in for a chat or not.)

'Tea?' he asked, tapping the one whirring silver contraption on his table that happened to be an actual teapot.

Minerva shook her head politely, folding herself into a chair with guardedness, but no hostility.

'I take it your business with Fudge went decently, then?' she remarked.

'Hardly.' Albus continued to smile superficially, but his irritation was not missed by Minerva. 'He won't remove the Dementors from around the perimeters of the Hogwarts grounds, no matter what I tell him. You'd think that between that horrible Quidditch match incident with Harry and the fact that the castle's security was breached _in spite of_ the presence of the Dementors, the man would see why they are absolutely unnecessary and may, in fact, do more harm than good. Really, Minerva, I don't see why he insists on meddling in the business of my school; imagine how he would feel if I encroached on the affairs of his Ministry! It makes one almost want to privatise the institution.'

'You wouldn't do that to Molly Weasley,' Minerva reminded the grumpy wizard unnecessarily, thinking that Fudge came running to Albus for help so often that one could hardly say that the Headmaster was removed from the government's dealings. 'Besides, how much longer do you think it will be before they catch him? Not even someone as clever as Sirius could evade half of Azkaban's forces indefinitely.'

'Who knows,' sighed Albus, sitting down behind his desk. 'The thing about Cornelius is that he's a terribly conventional thinker. A good yes-man, if I may be so impolite, and thus the consummate political climber; but I'm not sure there's an innovative bone in his body.'

Minerva laughed softly under her breath. Mad as Dumbledore sometimes drove her, experience had shown her that she simply couldn't stay angry with the witty old man forever.

'Severus feels that Fudge treats him badly,' she said, crossing her arms. 'It seems that even a decade of impeccable behaviour isn't enough to convince some people that a man can change for the better.'

'I'm sure many of Severus's students would be quick to question your choice of the word "impeccable," but point well taken. Although, Minerva, I would remind you that you expressed a considerable degree of reluctance when I hired Severus.'

'Yes, but I've changed since then, haven't I?' retorted Minerva. 'I might go so far as to say that Severus and I have become friends in the intervening years.'

A slight draft wriggled its way under the window and made Minerva shiver slightly. She suddenly recalled Severus the reclusive, bullied student, and cringed slightly.

'Although, of course, seeming friendship isn't always a guarantor of really _knowing_ a person,' she acknowledged.

'Indeed, no.' Albus poured himself tea from the whistling kettle and sat down in his chair, cradling his cup in his hands as the steam fogged up the lenses of his half-moon glasses.

'A group of us spent the afternoon talking about Sirius. Sirius Black,' Minerva corrected herself. (Only when she framed him as the tabloids did, both names plastered beneath a grainy photograph, could she distance the face of the snarling criminal from the exasperatingly charming boy who had once made her laugh, against her will, at the most absurd shenanigans during class.)

'Naturally. Cornelius's current fixation.'

'No, I mean Sirius Black as a boy. What he was like back when he and James and Remus were all so close.' Minerva's eyes were trained towards a dozing Fawkes, but she saw only a past that Albus could not access. 'I still don't know how it could have happened.'

'None of us do,' said Albus gently.

'Of all the people I thought I actually knew…' Minerva sighed, blinking away a tear or two. 'Well, as you can see, I still can't quite believe it. Every time I think about it, it's the initial betrayal all over again, hitting me full force.'

Albus sipped his tea as quietly as possible and waited patiently for Minerva to continue.

'The thing is, Albus,' she said finally, 'I trusted that boy beyond the boundaries of reason. Looking back at it, it seemed inevitable; I had no family left after the war, and his parents could barely have been called parents at all. He… well, you remember my years as a student at Hogwarts?'

'And a certain young man who won your affections,' nodded Albus.

'Hagrid said he saw the resemblance, too. It took me a while to realise that Sirius reminded of me him.' Minerva smiled slightly, still lost in a bygone idyll. 'It was stupid of me; I should never have let myself grow quite so attached to a student; but the truth is that Sirius became in many ways the son I had never had. I certainly thought of him that way, and for a long time I dared to think that he perhaps saw me as the mother he'd always needed. In any case, especially with James and Lily gone, and even poor Peter Pettigrew, it very nearly broke my heart, to hear what he had done.'

Her voice caught, and she pulled one of her signature tartan handkerchiefs from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes while Albus hastily poured more tea for both of them as a means of momentary diversion.

'So, you see, I _have_ to believe that Severus is truly reformed,' Minerva explained as she slowly regained her composure. 'I do believe that people can change, sometimes for the better, and sometimes for the worse. Because I refuse to believe that Sirius Black the murderer is the same person as the boy I once loved like my own child, just as strongly as I refuse to believe that Severus Snape the Death Eater is the same person as the man next to whom I eat dinner every evening.'

Albus pushed Minerva's cup of tea across the table towards her, and she accepted it with a grateful nod.

'And do you think that that is why you continue to avoid this play,' he asked quietly, 'because you don't want to fathom what Severus once was and might still be?'

'Who knows.' Minerva slowly exhaled and took a sip of tea, blinking furiously. 'I think I may have asked once before, but what really did make you trust him at the end of the war, Albus?'

She didn't expect the Headmaster to give her a straight answer, and, as expected, he did not.

'That is a matter between Severus and myself, Minerva, as you well know,' Albus admonished. 'But I don't think he would mind if I told you that he trusted _me_ with information that could have destroyed him, had others known. And when he had trusted me with his story, what could I do but trust him back?'

'It's that simple, is it?' Minerva said with an unconvinced laugh. But the memory of Severus's cryptic Shakespearean analogy suddenly returned to her, and even if the meaning of it all was still as opaque as ever, at least the motivation suddenly seemed a bit clearer.

'I think it indicates how deeply Severus trusts you that he wants you to be his Lady Macbeth,' said Albus quietly. 'You've seen what a vulnerable business acting is, Minerva; for a man as insecure as Severus, he simply couldn't play the role opposite someone as unfamiliar as Sybill Trelawney.'

'Oh, Merlin, you wouldn't actually!' groaned Minerva, rolling her eyes.

'What are understudies for? Besides, Severus has returned to the project knowing that he may very well be stuck with Sybill for a frequent scene partner.'

_Damn him_, thought Minerva, glaring at the Headmaster. The worst part of it was that she could tell that Albus knew he had already won; it was infuriating, really. Minerva set her tea cup on the desk and gave her old friend a very serious look.

'Part of me still hasn't forgiven you, you know. I'm not sure if I ever will be able to forgive you completely.'

She did not need to clarify what she meant. Albus nodded slowly.

'You have every right to be angry with me, I will not deny it.'

'I can't guarantee I won't lash out at you. I've already shouted at Severus, which made me feel horrible…'

'Minerva, if you're going to shout at anyone, it had better be me and _not_ Severus,' said Albus seriously. 'Believe me, I'll willingly take the brunt of the blame, because it was my fault, after all.'

Minerva nodded, nostrils flaring.

'Besides, think of it this way,' added Albus. 'You'd get to spend several months systematically plotting my assassination. Taking dramatic revenge for my past failings has to provide some form of cathartic release, don't you think?'

'Good heavens, Albus.' Minerva rose to her feet, scowling. 'Merlin knows I absolutely _hate_ the way you sometimes manipulate people to get what you want, but do realise that I make a clear distinction between active and passive wrongdoing; and, moreover, that after all the deaths I've suffered, yours is the last I want added to that list.'

Albus nodded once gratefully.

'I'll give this bloody experiment of yours one more chance, but I want to make it clear that I'm doing this for Severus, not for you.'

'Fair enough.'

'And if he at any point in time returns to his senses and decides to quit this madness, I will immediately follow suite.'

'Yes, Minerva,' sighed Albus, who really couldn't see why Minerva was being so closed-minded about all this, even taking into account all historical and psychological factors.

'Well, then,' breathed Minerva, 'I'll leave you here to gloat, shall I. Good night, Albus. I can't _believe_ the things I let you talk me into doing… first babysitting Cornelius Fudge, now this…'

Still grumbling, Minerva stepped into the fireplace and disappeared in a _whoosh!_ of green flame. Fawkes opened one eye blearily and trilled.

'Yes, I know,' said Albus pleasantly to his phoenix. 'I don't recall having expressly asked her to come back to the play, either.'

* * *

Albus had decided to call off rehearsals until after the winter holidays, mostly so the professors could focus on extracting final bits of coursework from students whose minds were already daydreaming of Christmas presents and snowball fights. In some ways, this annoyed Minerva to no end, if for no other reason than the fact that she knew she would probably spend all December deliberating whether or not to return to the play (even know a part of her knew for certain that she would).

She kept meaning to discuss the matter with Severus, if for no other reason than to let him know that she was back on board with the production; just so he wouldn't fret too much about it over the holiday, she reasoned, even if she herself would. But in the pre-Christmas rush, their interactions were restricted to nods of acknowledgement as they passed in the hallways, or mumbled greetings over morning tea and coffee. Only when the castle had emptied out for the remainder of the year did Minerva decide she no longer had any excuse to not approach Severus.

However, she had forgotten that the full moon was almost upon them, and when she made the trek down to the dungeons, she found that Severus had locked himself in his chambers and wouldn't respond to any polite rapping on the door. As Minerva stood scowling at the solid expanse of wood in front of her, the even tap of footsteps down the corridor announced the approach of Remus.

'Hello, Minerva,' he said, surprised. 'Is everything all right?'

'Quite,' said Minerva, turning to look at the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. 'I just wanted a word with Severus, but I believe he is wisely putting your concerns first. How are you, Remus?'

'Oh, fine.' Remus looked as exhausted as ever, his eyes shadowed by dark rings in his pale face, but he smiled valiantly. 'Not looking forward to a miserable Christmas Day, but what can one do.'

'I'm sorry.' Minerva reached out a hand as if to put it on the young man's shoulder, hesitated, and then withdrew it. 'Again, Remus, if there's anything I can do to help, please do not hesitate to let me know.'

'Well, thank you, Professor,' laughed Remus. 'You've done more than enough already, but thank you.'

'Did you need to talk to Severus? He seems to be acting rather reclusive right now, but if it's urgent…'

'No, no,' said Remus. 'I was just coming to see if he had finished the potion yet, but if he hasn't re-emerged from in there yet, I suppose that's a no.'

The two professors turned and began to walk out of the dungeon together.

'He still hates me, you know,' said Remus suddenly, 'and I can't say I really blame him.'

'Who?' Minerva raised one eyebrow. 'Severus?'

'Who else.' Remus sighed. 'I mean, that I never stopped James and Sirius from tormenting him for years is justification enough; but now, to add insult to injury, he has to concoct complex potions every month to keep me from accidentally killing someone around here…'

'Stop it, Remus,' said Minerva forcefully. 'You can't be held responsible for any of that.'

'Well, not for this, maybe,' laughed Remus bitterly, gesturing abstractly to his shabby clothes and haggard demeanour. 'But I can't deny it, Minerva; seeing him so often nowadays makes me constantly feel guilty about not being a stronger, more decent person.'

Minerva stopped dead in her tracks and turned toward Remus, her face hardened to guard against tears.

'Remus Lupin, listen to me,' she said. 'I don't know what exactly happened between your group and Severus back in your days at Hogwarts, and frankly, I probably don't want to know, but I can assure you this: You never have been, and never will be responsible for the pain that your friends have inflicted upon others. We all have stood idly by in moments when we should have spoken up in the defence of others, but there's no point in berating yourself for stupid mistakes that are long past. What's done is done.'

Remus stared at her for a moment, then laughed quietly.

'What?' snapped Minerva, who hated being laughed at when trying to give motivational speeches.

'Does this mean Dumbledore's convinced you to come back to us?' he asked, smiling.

'I haven't the slightest clue what you mean.'

'Minerva, whether you realised it or not, you just quoted _Macbeth_,' Remus pointed out.

'Remus, I am trying to be serious here!' snapped Minerva. 'For Merlin's sake, listen to me, will you?'

Remus's face fell, and he nodded gravely. Minerva suddenly felt terrible.

'I'm sorry, Remus,' she sighed. 'I'm just really on edge right now, being here at the castle with no classes to plan. It leaves me too much time to think.'

'Well, that makes two of us,' said the young werewolf with a brave but faltering smile. For a moment, he seemed as small as the underweight boy whose parents had shipped him off to Hogwarts in mixed sorrow and relief. 'Harry's asked for Patronus lessons.'

'Really!' Minerva smiled proudly. 'Well, it's nice to hear that he's taking some initiative in terms of both his own education and well-being. You said yes, I hope?'

'Of course.' Remus bit his lip. 'He told me that he hears voices when the Dementors come near him. That was his Boggart, you know, a Dementor.'

'What do you mean, he hears voices?' Minerva frowned.

Remus seemed to deflate physically, looking down at the ground.

'He told me he hears Lily and James being murdered,' he said finally, his voice cracking slightly. 'Every time, that's what he hears, just before he loses consciousness.'

Minerva stood helplessly by, unsure of how to react, especially since she suddenly felt that in a moment, she might need her tartan handkerchief as much as Remus did.

'I'm sorry, I don't mean to burden you with all of this, Minerva,' added Remus after taking a deep breath. 'But Albus is always running about, trying to keep the school and the rest of the United Kingdom from falling to pieces, and I feel I shouldn't worry him further with everyone else's comparatively insignificant problems.'

'I don't mind it at all, Remus,' said Minerva firmly, taking his hand. 'I actually prefer knowing if something is troubling any of my Gryffindors, especially Harry. And, because old habits die hard and I can sometimes be far more sentimental than is reasonable, I still count you amongst my Gryffindors, Remus.'

Remus nodded with a sad little smile.

'Thank you.'

'I mean it, Remus. If you ever need to talk, please don't hesitate to come find me.' Then, because the poor young professor still looked so miserable, Minerva surprised even herself by pulling him into a hug made rather awkward by the fact that Minerva just didn't hug people all that often. Remus was equally startled, but after a minute he accepted the situation and relaxed enough to return the gesture a bit.

A loud cough interrupted the moment and the two professors stepped away from each other. Severus stood there with an unreadable expression on his face.

'You mentioned earlier that you wished to speak with me, Remus?' said the Potions Master coolly.

'I just wanted to thank you again, Severus,' said Remus graciously. 'I know how much extra work this is for you, and I can't say how much it means to me. Again, if there's ever anything I can do to help you…'

'Again, there is nothing,' replied Severus icily. 'I will deliver the potion to your chambers when it is ready, Lupin; until then, I would appreciate it if you would leave me to my work in peace.'

'Yes, of course,' said Remus reasonably, clearly a bit taken aback by the unnecessary vitriol interlaced with Severus's customary distaste for the other wizard's presence. 'Well, thank you again.'

With a courteous nod to Minerva, Remus departed quickly up the stairs out of the dungeons.

'Severus!' called Minerva as the Potions Master turned and began billowing back up the corridor. 'May I have a word?'

Severus stopped with one hand on the door of his dungeon.

'I am very busy right now, Minerva, if you'll excuse me,' he said coldly, not turning to face Minerva.

'I just wanted to let you know that… that I'm returning to the production,' said Minerva quickly before Severus could disappear into his chambers for the rest of the day. 'So if you care to run lines, or catch me up on what's been happening in rehearsals, please let me know when your schedule will be less chaotic.'

Severus seemed to have frozen, then nodded ever so slightly, his back still facing the Transfiguration professor.

'Severus?' she asked, taking a cautious step towards him. 'Severus, are you feeling quite well?'

'Quite,' said Severus in a terrifyingly quiet voice, and before Minerva could stop him, he opened the door, slipped inside, and closed it with a sharp snap.

Minerva sighed. It really was infuriating to have Severus tell her that he was fine when he so clearly was not. And she was more than a bit irritated at his less-than-demonstrative reaction to the news of her return to his play. The man was an unending, maddening mystery; if only his communication skills were better, she lamented to herself as she climbed the stairs out of the dungeons rather more aggressively than was necessary. Well, for all his efforts to push everyone away, she would tell Poppy to keep an eye on Severus, just to be sure that he wasn't ill. It was the least she, Minerva, could do.

Severus, meanwhile, was trying his absolute hardest not to slip a drop or two of poison into Lupin's bloody potion. Of course it couldn't be bad enough that the damned werewolf's monthly problems ruined Severus's own free time; Lupin just _had_ to get all touchy-feely with Minerva, didn't he? Severus gnashed his teeth and tossed a handful of dried lacewings into the cauldron with considerably more vigour than was really necessary; the potion hissed and erupted in tiny showers of red sparks where each tiny insect corpse hit its surface. Oh, he was well aware that everyone else in the castle was much more friendly towards each other than he ever was or intended to be, but that Lupin – _Lupin_ – of all people, had to be the one receiving hugs (and Merlin only knew what else, although Severus willed his imagination not to meander in that direction) from the one person with whom Severus wanted to be at all close…

Severus halted in his tracks halfway across his dungeon. Had he really just thought that? Yes, he supposed he had. And… and it wasn't that surprising, after all. He and Minerva were similar enough; there was no reason he shouldn't want to be able to consider himself as familiar with her as Lupin or Hagrid or Pomona did. Still, the thought of wanting to befriend someone in that way was unnerving to Severus, who hadn't had the slightest inclination towards cultivating heart-to-heart confidantes in decades.

Although, he realised as he stirred the potion thrice widdershins, he already had invited her into his own confidence, hadn't he? That whole ridiculous parallel between Shakespeare and his own story… well, but she hadn't exactly picked up on it, had she? Or had she? Part of what Severus liked best about Minerva was that she was as inscrutable as he himself, in many ways; unlike Aurora or Charity or Filius, she didn't wear her heart on her sleeve. Perhaps she had absorbed more than she was letting on. But he doubted it.

For the umpteenth time, Severus glanced at a small vial of poison fermenting on a small shelf next to his fireplace. Damn it. Dumbledore would surely know right off if Severus poisoned Lupin (one wouldn't even have to be omniscient like the ever-meddling Headmaster to guess as much), and Severus really didn't fancy a turn in Azkaban. Moreover, somewhere in the back of his mind, Severus realised that Lupin couldn't help it if everyone liked him better than they liked Severus; Lupin was inherently a more warm and fuzzy personality, even when in a completely human figure.

But still, there was Minerva, and that was different. _Why are you acting this way?_ Severus asked himself angrily. It was really, really ridiculous; he hadn't felt so – so _envious_, since… since James Potter had stolen Lily's heart away.

Had Severus been the type to let his jaw drop in astonishment, that was surely the reaction that would have taken hold of him; being himself, however, his posture just became a bit more rigid than usual, which is to say, positively frozen. Was he really jealous of Lupin because, even in a probably-platonic manner, Minerva was paying the werewolf more positive attention? Was that really it? But still, Severus couldn't fathom the reason why he would be so on edge about it all, unless…

Impossible.

Severus shook himself, willing himself to stop thinking such ridiculous thoughts. He had been reading over his script too often lately, that was all; he was allowing himself to think of them too much as the Macbeths. Because it was impossible that he, Severus, had fallen in love with Minerva McGonagall. Absolutely impossible. For one thing, nothing could ever possibly come of it, because of who he was, and because of who she was, and because Severus had long since decided that unrequited, Petrarchan love was the least desirable thing in the universe. For another thing… no, that was all the excuse needed. He was not capable in falling in love, especially not with Minerva. It just wasn't possible.

But she had asked him to run lines with her, and to catch her up on everything that had been going on in rehearsal. Oh, _Merlin_, why did the thought of even sitting in the same room with her suddenly make him feel anxious as hell? Severus decided it was absolutely necessary to talk himself out of all this before he would next need to face the critical witch, who would surely notice immediately if Severus was acting odd. And he groaned as he realised that tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and that meant that Dumbledore would hunt him down if he did not appear at any meals.

* * *

Pomona loved Christmas at Hogwarts, when everything was so peaceful and quiet, and the corridors were decorated so beautifully with garlands and lights. Of course she missed the students, but it was extremely relaxing to be able to sleep in late and wander down to the greenhouses in the mid-afternoon on her own whim.

Arriving in the Great Hall just after noon on Christmas Day, she was tickled to see that the long tables had been pushed aside for a much more intimate 12-chair setting. Albus, seated between Filius and a very grumpy looking Severus, was already deep in some very serious philosophical conversation with the former, as some poor little students watched on in what could only be described as bewilderment; Pomona winked at them as she sat down on Filius's other side and began looking over the food.

She had only just managed to engage one of the anxious first-years in a half-mumbled conversation about his pet ferret when Minerva and Filch arrived in the Great Hall at roughly the same time. Pomona raised a hand to wave Minerva over, but Filch – who never had had much insight into what other people were thinking – bustled over and took the other seat next to Pomona, who shrugged helplessly at Minerva. Minerva raised her eyebrows at Pomona in sympathy, and, with a tiny smile of amusement, sat down next to Severus instead.

Good heavens. Was it just Pomona's imagination, or had Severus jumped a bit upon suddenly finding the Transfiguration professor seated next to him? Pomona pursed her lips pensively; she had been fairly certain that Minerva and Severus had smoothed over any remnants of whatever row they'd had, so was this something related, or some new problem that had sprung up between them?

Minerva politely asked Severus to pass the Christmas pudding and received it without so much as a sideways glance from the Potions Master. Pomona frowned. Really, much as she'd grown to like Severus, did he really have to be so contrary on Christmas Day? She would have to have a word with him after lunch; that is, if Minerva (who looked as annoyed as Pomona felt) didn't beat her to it. To the Scottish witch's credit, she was still trying to engage an uncooperative Severus in small talk when the rest of the students in the castle (Harry Potter and Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger) appeared for lunch; Pomona was amused to see that Minerva barely even acknowledged the arrival of her favourite Gryffindors (as everyone knew they were, even though Minerva spent half her time threatening to expel the troublemakers for their ludicrous shenanigans) and left Albus to take care of all greetings.

Thank heavens Filius took Albus's moment of distraction to say hello and start up a cheerful conversation. Pomona was getting bored watching everyone else chat while she listened to a sullen Filch chew noisily in his mouldy waistcoat.

It would have been a relatively uneventful lunch, if not for the sudden appearance of Sybill Trelawney part way through the meal, and all the accompanying histrionics that occurred wherever the Divination professor appeared. Thinking back on it, Pomona could not remember seeing Sybill out of her tower since… well, since that whole fiasco with Severus and the play. Pomona tried not to giggle thinking about it, although she could tell by the hand Filius had discretely placed over his mouth to stifle his own laughter that he was remembering the same incident. As apprehensive as Severus had appeared when Minerva had taken the seat next to him, Pomona was certain the Potions Master looked ten times more uncomfortable when the Headmaster (devious man) deliberately placed Sybill directly between Minerva and Severus. Merlin, did Albus – by now clad in a ridiculous hat with a stuffed vulture on it – _like_ making them all squirm? Because Severus certainly retreated into his own protective shell with a look on his face that indicated that he would incinerate Sybill if she so much as laid a finger on him, and Minerva immediately began her usual game of snarky retorts, lashing out perhaps a bit more viciously than was normal whenever Sybill said something particularly absurd.

The whole matter culminated when Harry Potter and his friends stood up and Sybill began shrieking doom and destruction upon their heads because of some superstition; Minerva bristled and struck, her Gryffindors left sniggering, and Sybill, suddenly deprived of her former target, turned with a hushed breath to Severus, who was resolutely staring down at his mashed potatoes.

'My dear,' she cooed, laying a ring-studded, bony hand over Severus's, 'I can tell that you are most distressed, yes, most distressed indeed by someone seated at this table… but the Inner Eye has revealed to me that you will not lack her attention for long, should you be bold and resolute in your actions…'

'Oh for heaven's sake, Sybill!' shouted Minerva, throwing her serviette onto the table as she leapt to her feet and stormed out. Pomona quickly stumbled to her feet and followed the irate witch out of the Great Hall.

'Minerva, what…?'

'She just can't leave anyone alone, can she?' hissed Minerva as viciously as if she were in her Animagus form, turning abruptly on her heel to face Pomona. 'And poor Severus – really, after what I heard she did to him at that rehearsal, how dare she have the nerve to even _look_ at him!'

'Minerva, she wasn't in her right mind then,' Pomona reasoned, 'and she was only trying to fill in for you the best she could…'

'Yes, well!' Minerva sniffed. 'No longer will she have to "fill in" for me, Pomona. Merlin knows I have better things to do with my time, but if returning to all this nonsense can save Severus a dose of humiliation, then I am more than happy to…'

'Er, Professor?' said a small voice behind Minerva, and both professors turned to see a rather apprehensive Hermione Granger watching them.

'Yes, Miss Granger, is something wrong?' said Minerva, gathering herself together quickly although her nostrils were still flared.

'Well, that's just it, I'm not sure.' Hermione bit her lip nervously. 'It's about something Harry's just received in the post for Christmas, I think you should have a look at it.'

'Oh?' Minerva raised an eyebrow.

'It's a broom, Professor,' said Hermione in a low voice, glancing about anxiously. 'A Firebolt, which is exactly what Harry would want, so it seems almost too good to be true. And it's not addressed, so we have no idea who sent it, and that in itself seems suspicious enough to me, but… well, after what happened last Quidditch match, I've been thinking, what if it was sent to him by Sirius Black…?'

Minerva's eyes widened.

'Thank you for coming to me, Miss Granger,' she said briskly, composure completely under her control once more. 'Yes, I think it would be only wise for us to ensure that there are no dangerous hexes on it – if you'll excuse me, Professor Sprout, I believe this is a conversation we can and should finish later.'

Pomona shook her head as Minerva strode up the hall with Hermione Granger scampering in her wake. Trust Minerva to regain control of things the instant one of her little lions was in the way of potential harm. But had she really come back to the production, then? Curious. She would have to ask Albus about it later, see what he had done to convince Minerva to do exactly what she'd been swearing she wouldn't; for surely sparing Severus the indignity of being kissed by a drunken Sybill Trelawney wasn't the only reason Minerva McGonagall would ever stoop once more to this level...

All of a sudden, Pomona remembered that she'd been meaning to corner Severus about his sullen behaviour and talk him out of it, but by the time she arrived back in the Great Hall, the only people remaining at the table were the remainder of the confounded students, Albus and Filius chatting politely about something in the news, and the sulking Seer poking petulantly with her fork at a piece of cabbage. The Potions Master had vanished, and for once, Pomona could hardly blame him. She sighed and took her seat, determined to track that stubborn man down some time in the near future.


	10. Equilibrium

Oh, hey, everyone! Happy holidays to all of you, and here's another chapter. Apologies for what I can promise will be another long gap between updates - my last year of uni is much more frantic (in a wonderful way) than anticipated, and as I'm juggling two long-chaptered fics, I think it's only fair if I update them each in their turn. That said, please enjoy, and I hope to get back to you soon!

Also, further apologies for how generally serious this chapter is (sort of). I promise to put more straight-up humour into the next installment...

* * *

10. Equilibrium

Filius stared down at the broomstick, his eyes widening. He had never been the greatest shot at flying, but he could still appreciate a beautifully-crafted broom as well as the next fellow, and this Firebolt was by far the most state-of-the-art apparatus he could have imagined. Tentatively, he reached out a hand and held it over the broom until it leapt up into his palm, almost buzzing with energy.

Harry Potter was a lucky, lucky boy. Even if this broom did have some horrible spell embedded within it, Filius was determined to restore it to its original state with as much care as he could manage; it would be such a pity to waste a creation like this.

'Enjoying yourself?' asked Minerva with a smug smile as she peered into his office.

'I was just thinking about how terribly sad I'd be if we had to damage it beyond repair to remove any curses,' muttered Filius, turning the broomstick slowly over in his hands and admiring how the polished wood gleamed in the firelight. 'It's quite a spectacular broom.'

'Indeed,' agreed Minerva ruefully. Part of her desperately wanted to snatch the Firebolt from Filius's hands and take it for a ride around the parapets of the castle, but something told her that if she so much as touched the handle, she'd never be able to bring herself to let Filius strip it down for precisely the reasons he had just stated. Damn her infernal Quidditch obsession… once again, it was bringing her dangerously near to placing the sport above the well-being of one Harry James Potter.

'Well, shall we get to it, then?' she said finally, tearing her eyes from the Firebolt and rolling up her sleeves.

'We're still missing one of our party,' Filius informed her.

'Oh?'

'I've asked Severus to be here as well, considering he, er, is more familiar with certain Dark curses than the rest of us,' Filius explained somewhat sheepishly.

Oh. Well, that did make sense, once Minerva thought about it, although it made her a bit sad to think that that association sprang to mind so easily when it came to Severus, who had just swept through the door.

'Filius,' said Severus solemnly with a nod. 'Minerva,' he added without exactly looking at her.

'Hello, Severus,' replied Minerva, annoyed at this trend of being ignored by Severus. 'If you're ready, shall we begin?'

The three professors worked diligently for the next half hour, carefully subjecting the levitated broomstick to a variety of test spells and potion daubs. Minerva glanced continually out of the corner of her eye at Severus, who seemed utterly absorbed in the task at hand, which was a bit odd, although perhaps professional pride for a job well done trumped exhibiting any sort of concern for Harry Potter's well-being, in this case? At any rate, the wan wizard looked slightly less stressed than he had on either of the previous two occasions they had met, although that wasn't saying much.

'I appreciate how thorough you're being with this, Severus,' she said lightly, 'seeing as it may end up benefitting the Gryffindor Quidditch team, in the end.'

'Perhaps I think the Slytherin team can win without the need for flashy broomsticks or other gimmicks,' replied Severus without looking at her.

Minerva relaxed a touch internally. If Severus was displaying his expected snark, then everything was back to normal.

'Oh, I wouldn't be so sure,' squeaked Filius. 'You've got a very good team this year, Severus, but Gryffindor's shown a lot of spunk, disasters notwithstanding.'

'Thank you, Filius,' replied Minerva, frowning as she sent a shockwave down the handle of the broomstick. She still hadn't quite gotten over the jolt of horrified panic she had experienced upon seeing her Seeker fall from his broom.

'Yes,' continued Filius, 'I think Gryffindor might well have won that game, had the Dementors not appeared. Your Chasers were flying very well, in spite of the storm.'

'You do realise that we'll be playing you next month, I hope?' laughed Minerva. 'I'll find it hard to make any bets with you out of sheer guilt, if you keep this up, Filius.'

'Oh, I always bet for my own team, I think it's just more sporting that way,' said Filius cheerfully. 'Good for House morale, you know. Plus, our Miss Chang is a quiet force to be reckoned with, in her own way. We'll see if she can outfly Mr Potter.'

'Cheers to that,' replied Minerva, smiling smugly and reaching out to shake hands with Filius just as Severus began to pour a trickle of a clear potion onto the handle of the Firebolt.

'Careful…!' Severus snapped a second too late. Minerva gritted her teeth with a sharp intake of breath as the potion steamed gray on her wrist for a second and then sank into her flesh with a poof of mist.

'I hope this isn't toxic?' muttered Minerva, wincing with pain as a shiny burn mark began to develop on her wrist where the potion had touched it.

'No, but nor is it exactly healthy for you,' said Severus icily, quickly corking the bottle and sweeping round the suspended broom. 'We should counteract the effects as soon as possible; I have a couple of potions that may help.'

'You'd better go with Severus, Minerva,' said Filius, concerned. 'I can wrap all this up for the day.'

'Very well,' replied Minerva, clenching her jaw again as a fresh wave of pain made her hand seize up involuntarily. 'Although I'm surprised you don't carry some sort of anti-burn anecdote with you, Severus…'

'I keep several in my classroom, but I wasn't expecting anyone to get burned today,' replied Severus acerbically as he and Minerva quit Filius's airy office. 'Besides, this isn't a common burn, which is why it is far more efficacious for me to treat it myself than to let Poppy puzzle over it for an eternity.'

'Well, common or not, anything you could do to take some of the sting out of it would be much appreciated,' answered Minerva. She hissed as her wrist began to ooze blood from the burn. 'Merlin, Severus, what is this?'

'It's a potion to test for any signs of particularly strong magic,' explained Severus, picking up his pace. 'If detected, the potion sequesters the different components of the magic so that the malignant types can be easily removed.'

'That… sounds immensely clever in theory,' gasped Minerva, struggling to keep up with Severus and deal with a rather extraordinary amount of pain at the same time. 'I hope it won't have any lasting effects on me?'

'I'm sorry to say that I'm not sure,' replied Severus slowly, although his gait remained as steady as ever. 'I inadvertently invented this myself a few years ago and haven't had the occasion to test it on any living subjects.'

'Wonderful,' muttered Minerva. She stumbled and caught herself against the wall, which she leaned against to regain her breath and her composure, her legs shaking. It was harder work keeping herself together than she might have expected.

'Needless to say, the sooner I can treat you, the less likely the effects will be lasting,' added Severus unhelpfully as he noticed that she had stopped.

'Yes, I realise that, Severus,' snapped Minerva between ragged breaths. 'It's just a bit more difficult to keep pace with you when…' Another spasm of pain shot up her arm and she winced.

Merlin. She hated acting so weak around someone like Severus Snape, but this was really intolerable.

'Severus,' she said in as normal a tone as possible. 'Could you please go fetch Poppy and ask her to administer some sort of painkiller to this? Or else,' she continued, swallowing her pride, 'if you yourself could conjure a stretcher to make moving me a bit less of an ordeal…?'

Severus gave her a long look.

'I… don't think it would be wise to risk putting any other sort of magic in close proximity to this,' he said, his brow furrowing. 'It might just complicate the whole procedure, or make the potion react even more quickly.'

'Severus, look,' Minerva gasped. 'I can't walk any further, so unless you have some ingenious plan for getting me elsewhere without magic…'

To her dismay, her legs gave out and she slid to the ground, still shaking. This was incredibly unprofessional. Minerva reminded herself to apologise to Severus for all this, at some future point in time when it didn't feel like she had a piece of shrapnel embedded in her arm... although, it _was_ after all his fault that she was in this mess in the first place…

'Here,' said Severus's voice somewhere close to her ear, and Minerva realised that her vision was fading in and out. 'Put your arm around my neck.'

'But that'll just…' Minerva tried to say something intelligible and gave up.

'Your other arm,' clarified Severus, and Minerva had the vague sensation of being lifted off the ground. Well, this was turning out to be a rather unusual day. At least they were still on holiday and she wouldn't have to worry about rescheduling any classes, she thought, just before she lost consciousness.

* * *

When Minerva came to, she became gradually aware that she was lying on a bench of sorts down in the dungeons. Unpleasant-looking pickled animals sat in jars on the shelves, and Severus was rummaging in a cabinet behind his desk. An array of brilliantly-coloured potions in surprisingly elegant stoppered bottles were scattered across a slew of unmarked scrolls from his N.E.W.T.-level class.

'Severus,' Minerva croaked, then stopped, irritated by the sound of her voice. She tried to sit up, but the room started spinning rapidly, and she decided it would be wisest to remain reclining.

She opened one eye when she sensed that Severus was standing directly over her.

'You'd better take this, too,' he said in an unnervingly soft voice, holding out a dark purple potion in a beaker.

Minerva nodded slightly and began to move herself to a seated position very slowly. She was again surprised when Severus placed his free hand on her shoulder to support her.

'Thank you,' she rasped, taking the potion and choking some of it down. Immediately, her head cleared a little and she felt less nauseous.

Severus nodded curtly in return and moved back over towards his desk, where he began to replace all of the bottles back into the cabinet. Minerva sighed slightly and leaned her head back against the wall, closing her eyes and just listening to the calm clink of glass against wood as each bottle was put back in its place.

'I hope you haven't strained yourself too harshly?' she said finally, when she heard the door of the cabinet snap shut. She opened her eyes to see Severus regarding her with a slightly confused look from across the room. 'I mean, I can't imagine it was easy having to, er, carry an incapacitated witch through the castle, and especially seeing as you've seemed a bit unwell the last few times I've seen you…'

'It was no trouble,' said Severus, averting his eyes and beginning to straighten up his desk a bit. 'I'm feeling quite well now.'

'Good.' Minerva felt remarkably awkward. 'Thank you, for all this.'

'I doubt the Headmaster would have been all that pleased if his Deputy Headmistress's powers had been rendered useless due to sequestration,' replied Severus, albeit with less of an edge to his tone than usual. 'As it is, I've given you a serum that has countered the effects of the previous potion and will help to reintegrate everything within the next few days. I recommend you do not attempt any particularly complex types of magic until you feel completely recovered, however.'

'Fair enough. Thank goodness we're still on holiday.' Minerva stretched her injured arm; the burn had faded somewhat, but her joints were now dreadfully stiff. Although by Muggle standards, she physically appeared somewhere in her early forties, the stiffness made Minerva feel all of her seventy-some-odd years rather too acutely. 'How long have I been here?'

'Only half an hour or so.' Severus stopped stacking scrolls into neat piles on his desk and scowled at the bench on which Minerva was sitting. 'Forgive me for not… for not placing you on something more comfortable. Given the circumstances, I thought it might be unwise to try to Transfigure the bench into a couch, or something of that nature.'

'Not to worry, Severus,' said Minerva kindly. It suddenly occurred to her that she could not recall ever having been inside Severus's office before; certainly, she could remember the space when it was Horace Slughorn's office, but never as Severus's. She felt suddenly invasive. 'I'll just…'

Minerva made as if to push herself to her feet, then quickly decided against it, for fear she would collapse again.

Severus had been watching her calmly from the other side of the room, but he slowly walked over to where the increasingly-embarrassed Minerva sat on the edge of the bench, breathing heavily.

'It's probably safest if you rest here for a bit,' he said hesitantly. 'I am sorry to detain you from any work you may have to do today.'

'Oh, not at all,' said Minerva, waving her hand. 'I just feel terrible about being such an imposition…'

Her breath caught when, quite unexpectedly, Severus caught her hand in his own and held it gently for a moment.

'Never,' he said quietly, and Minerva found herself touched by the startling sincerity in his voice. For a moment, she simply stared up at the Potion Master's inscrutable expression, enjoying how the warmth of his hand contrasted incongruously with his stony demeanour. Then, flicking his eyes away from Minerva's gaze, Severus turned her hand over so he better examine the burn on her wrist.

'This might take a while to fade completely,' he said, almost apologetically. 'I can see if I have anything that will speed the process…'

'Please, don't trouble yourself,' said Minerva quickly, glad that she was not a terribly vain person. 'And thank you for everything you've done for me already, I mean it.'

Severus nodded curtly.

'Can I fetch you anything from your office?' he asked.

'Oh, no, it's fine,' sighed Minerva. 'The last thing I really want to do right now is mark papers. It _is_ the holidays, after all; it's probably more friendly to chat with friends, anyway. If you feel like staying, that is,' she added hastily, kicking herself mentally for assuming that Severus would have the leisure or the desire to talk to her.

Apparently, Severus had not been expecting such a response, for he looked down towards the ground just an instant too late for Minerva to miss some subtle change in his expression.

'Of course,' he said. 'Shall I… put on some tea, then…?'

'That sounds lovely,' replied Minerva.

Severus nodded, regarding Minerva pensively. Then he swiftly tapped the bench with his wand, and Minerva felt slightly lightheaded for a moment before she found herself seated instead on a chaise lounge lined with green velvet. She shifted slowly into a half-reclining position as Severus disappeared into the back of the office to find a tea kettle, and it was then that she noticed the script resting on the table next to the chaise lounge.

'You know, Severus, you did promise to catch me up to speed on all of this,' she said, flipping through the well-worn pages of the script as Severus reappeared in the doorway, levitating a tray bearing two green tea cups and a steaming pot of tea.

'So I did,' said Severus warily, placing the tray on the side table.

'Well, then?' Minerva curled her legs up to her chest and propped her head up with one ear, sending her spectacles just slightly askew. 'Any good gossip, interesting stories, funny anecdotes?'

Severus conjured up an austere black chair and took a seat in it, angling himself so that he could face Minerva and serve tea at the same time.

'Oh, dear me, where to start?' he said, his lip curling slightly as he rolled his eyes heavenward in pre-emptive exasperation. 'One could argue that more mayhem has occurred than actual Shakespeare. Just last week, for example, Filius and that idiot of a ghost Nick were working through part of Act Four, where Malcolm just talks on and on for _ages _and makes almost no sense in the first place; and Nick, being his overblown, absurd, incorporeal self, made the text so overblown and unclear that Irma actually…'

Minerva was shocked to hear the grandfather clock in the corner of the room emit a string of matter-of-fact chimes some time later; had they really been talking for over an hour?

'Good heavens, Severus,' she chuckled, sipping her third cup of tea. 'If Irma can't manage to pull this all off, you could always just go up on the stage alone and perform a one-man comedy show for the students. You've got quite a knack for storytelling.'

'Anyone can tell a good story,' said Severus dismissively, pouring himself some more tea. 'It's getting an audience to listen that's the hard part.'

'Hmm.' Minerva frowned, cradling the tea cup in her hands and trying to ignore the fact that the steam was fogging up her spectacles. 'And is it just that you don't want an audience to listen to you, then?'

Severus quirked an eyebrow and took a quick sip of tea.

'Maybe it's just that the only audiences I really care about are already willing to listen,' he replied shortly, setting his teacup and saucer down on the side table.

Minerva thought better than to press the cryptic Potions Master further, and instead she swung her legs over the chaise lounge so she could sit upright and balance the teacup on her knees.

'I have to admit, I haven't looked through this in months,' she said, holding the script out to him. 'I can't believe I actually had a grasp of sorts on some of the lines in the past.'

Severus took the script from her.

'Again, I feel dreadful about keeping you from all your work,' she continued, 'but if you wouldn't mind working a little on some of the lines…?'

'Rote memorisation? I suppose so.'

'Actually…' Minerva hesitated. 'You know, at one point a long time ago, Severus, you sat me down and began to talk me through all the nuances of character relationships, and so forth. And that's what I really feel like I should be working on.'

'Really.'

'Yes.' Minerva exhaled. 'In all the various… chats I've had with Albus about this whole exercise, I've increasingly felt that perhaps I'm not trusting the rest of you enough. I mean, I'm not exactly demonstrative about my feelings, normally, but if the point of all this is to push me out of my comfort zone…'

It was harder for her to put this all into words than she had been expecting. She decided to blame it on her recent accident.

'The point is, Severus, do you trust _me_?' she said suddenly.

Severus blinked.

'I believe I asked you that same question once,' he responded curtly.

'You did,' Minerva conceded, 'and at the time, I wasn't sure what to say, and who knows, maybe I still don't exactly know. But I'm perfectly willing to admit that I trust myself even less in this, just because… because I know how much you're putting into this production, Severus, and I want to meet you halfway in terms of commitment, I really do, but I just don't know if I can get over whatever's stopping me…'

Minerva bit her lip and looked down at her hands, where they were clasped on her knees. After a long moment, Severus cleared his throat, his elbows balanced on his knees and his hands likewise clasped.

'I have very little stage experience myself,' he said quietly, 'and what performance I have done has had far higher stakes than mere embarrassment. So I do not count myself an expert on theatre, in any respect. But if I have learned one thing, it is this: The most important goal is to convince the audience that you are serious. Often, this can lead you to buy into your own game, but it doesn't matter a jot what you yourself feel if your audience isn't affected by it. A complex emotion felt by the actor will be meaningless if it cannot be communicated clearly to the audience, while a very simple gesture can mean the world to the audience, even if it means nothing to the actor.'

'Really.' Minerva furrowed her brow. 'For example…?'

'For example…'

For the next week, Severus Snape would ask himself over and over again what exactly had possessed him to do such a mad thing, how the devil he had summoned enough bravery to do it. Over and over again, he came to the same conclusion: The only way he ever could have had the nerve to kiss Minerva McGonagall was because he acted on impulse and did not take the _time_ to think about it. And indeed, that was exactly what had occurred; he had simply leaned forward, clasped her hands in his, and kissed her chastely on the lips before sitting back in his chair, feeling as stunned as she looked.

'So, if the audience sees _that_,' he continued in a completely normal voice, although his heart was beating rather faster than normal, 'it no longer matters what _we_ feel, as Severus and Minerva; they will assume that we – or, rather, our characters – are in love, and they will react emotionally in some way, even if such a gesture is completely empty for us.'

'Oh,' said Minerva, trying to sort out what exactly had just happened. She had not been kissed in a romantic sense for years, and she couldn't recall ever having been kissed for educational purposes. 'Yes, that does make sense.'

'Well, then.' Severus half-shrugged, still not quite looking at Minerva. 'You can see that effective commitment does not necessarily mean that you have to sell your soul to this play. It is very possible to maintain strict boundaries between yourself and your character.'

'Yes, and thank goodness for that, given her sunny disposition,' laughed Minerva awkwardly.

The clock on the wall chimed the quarter hour. Minerva started.

'I should probably be going,' she said apologetically, pushing herself to her feet and thanking some higher power that her legs held up this time. 'Sorry, I suppose the lines will have to wait for later, but I suppose we'll… talk again some time soon, about our characters, and so forth? I don't want to be too behind when rehearsals resume, since you've all been working so hard…'

'Don't worry,' said Severus calmly, also rising to his feet. 'A cast is like a Quidditch team, Minerva; it reacts and rebalances as players come and go.'

'So you'll all have to reach some sort of new equilibrium when I replace Sybill Trelawney?' joked Minerva, taking a few tentative steps towards the door.

'_We'll_ all have to reach some sort of new equilibrium,' Severus corrected her, tracking each step with an impassivity that masked concern. 'I can walk you back up to your office…'

'Oh, I'll be fine,' insisted Minerva, although she could already tell that the walk would wear her out more than she would like. 'Thank you for the offer, though.'

She turned to face him with one hand on the handle of his office door, and for a long moment, they each considered saying something more to one another, before individually deciding that it was highly unlikely that the right words would spring to the occasion.

'Alert me immediately if you need any further care,' said Severus finally. 'Again, you should be fine if you refrain from attempting any forms of complex magic over the next few days, and you should be completely back to normal in all other respects by tomorrow, if you rest up tonight.'

'Thank you,' Minerva repeated. 'I'm feeling much better already, but I will keep that in mind.'

Severus nodded once.

'Well, good evening,' said Minerva finally, fumbling with the door handle. Only when she had shut the door firmly between them and rounded at least two corners on her way out of the dungeons did she stop to regain her breath, leaning against one of the hard stone walls.

It must be the aftereffects of such a strong shock to her system, she reasoned; it was all making her more tired and jittery than usual. Why else would she be so wound up about Severus Snape kissing her, in what he had made clear was a decidedly platonic and purely instructional context? Other than the fact that it was completely unexpected, and that most people would at least ask _permission_ before demonstrating such an intensely personal sort of emotion-inducing gesture… well, but she _had_ just told him that she was looking for ways to stretch beyond her comfort zone, and this certainly qualified. Kissing a former student _certainly_ qualified.

Merlin, was that being fair to Severus, though? Thinking of him as a former student, as she often did. The funny thing was, for Minerva, there had always been three rather distinct Severus Snapes; the isolated student, the ruthless Death Eater, and the enigmatic professor. And while it was easy – perhaps even necessary – for her to excise the second of these three identities from her perception of the Severus she knew, she still could not help but draw the connection from the student to the professor, even though she had known Severus as a man for the past thirteen years. It was easier to think about the fact that he had just kissed her (however lacking in romantic content) when she pretended she had never known him as an unhappy 11-year-old, difficult as it was to dispel the association.

It was all too confusing. Minerva wanted nothing better than to just lie down in bed and think it through after a long nap. She continued slowly up the hallway, one hand against the unforgiving wall for support, trying not to reflect on how different it felt from the gentle warmth of Severus's hand on hers.

* * *

'Minerva!' squeaked Filius when Minerva appeared in the Great Hall for lunch the next day. 'Feeling better?'

Pomona eyed her old friend closely as she sat down at their end of the table, away from the bored looking Ravenclaw student flipping through an old article on some Quidditch team across the way. Minerva looked a bit more tired than usual, but otherwise fairly normal… perhaps rather preoccupied, but then again, Pomona had never known Minerva to have her mind on fewer than five things at once.

'Filius told me you had an accident yesterday,' she said, passing Minerva a tub of jam.

'It was nothing,' said Minerva briskly, helping herself. 'Severus managed to patch up the damage within a few minutes.'

'Well, that's a relief,' said Filius cheerfully. 'You looked like you were in rather a fix when I was leaving my office, my dear, but I'm glad to know that our Potions Master got you, ahem, back on your feet in no time.'

Pomona had the distinct impression that the flush tingeing the Transfiguration professor's cheeks was not due solely to the fact that she had just choked slightly on a sip of orange juice.

'You know I'll just ask Filius what he's talking about if you don't tell me right now,' she muttered mischievously.

'If you must know, I, er, fainted,' sniffed Minerva, glowering.

'You what?!' Pomona's eyebrows flew upwards into her flyaway hair. 'And you didn't go to the Hospital Wing immediately?'

'Oh, of course not, Pomona; my unconscious self decided that would be a terrible idea,' snapped Minerva. 'No, Severus decided he was going to take care of things himself, and…'

Minerva sighed.

'He carried her down to his dungeons in his arms,' supplied Filius, smiling slightly mischievously. 'Rather sweet of him, don't you think?'

'Indeed,' said Pomona, failing to suppress a smile.

'It was a perfectly logical thing to do!' said Minerva defensively. 'The potion he accidentally spilled on me would have reacted with any foreign magic, so…'

'So that explains perfectly why he roughly brushed aside Remus's offer to help him out when he ran into him on the stairs down to the dungeons,' quipped Filius. 'Although perhaps it's lucky Severus refused; Remus looked on the verge of collapse yesterday when I saw him in the staff room. Poor fellow. Horrible to be sick on Christmas Day, like he was.'

Minerva closed her eyes and inhaled sharply, as if on the verge of breathing fire. Pomona could tell that her friend was wondering if the entire school knew by now about her fainting spell.

'But you're feeling well now?' Pomona pressed her. 'Only, when I stopped by your office mid-afternoon yesterday to ask you about tonight's rehearsal, you weren't anywhere to be found. I knocked on your bedroom door, even though I know you don't really take naps, but you didn't answer…'

'No, because I was still feeling a bit unwell after Severus gave me the antidote to his potion, so I rested down in his office for a bit until I felt better, and… wait, what was that about tonight's rehearsal?'

A flush was creeping up Minerva's neck again. Pomona decided that enough was enough.

'Minerva, if you're almost done with your porridge, why don't you take a turn in the fresh air with me?' she said breezily.

'Oh, for heaven's sake, Pomona, I'm not ill!' sighed Minerva, but she obediently stood and followed Pomona out the Great Hall and through the doors of Hogwarts.

'First things first, Minerva: You keep claiming you're not ill, but if you had to rest for several hours in Severus's office before you felt quite well enough to leave,' Pomona began, but Minerva cut her off with an impatient wave of her hand.

'We fell to chatting about this and that, and I lost track of the time. Nothing to worry about.'

'Chatting?' repeated Pomona, who had never associated such a casual verb with Severus Snape. She noticed that Minerva was moving just a touch more slowly than usual and slowed her own pace accordingly.

'More like he caught me up to speed with what was going on with the play, and so forth,' explained Minerva irritably. 'Now, what are you really asking me, Pomona?'

Pomona realised she should have known that over sixty years' worth of friendship would have clued Minerva in to Pomona's own quirks.

'I feel like there's something you're not telling me,' she said without preamble, stopping by the greenhouses. 'You and Severus have been exhibiting the most erratic behaviour towards each other lately, and I'm glad to hear that it sounds like nothing negative has passed between you two, but… what?'

Minerva was staring resolutely at the ground.

'We had a very serious talk yesterday about… about the play, and so forth,' she said slowly, lowering herself onto a bench outside the greenhouses. 'I think I lost more sleep than I should have, thinking about it. I'm not sure I can really say what happened, but… but, Pomona, I'm not sure I have the courage to be who he wants me to be; who _I_ want to be. Who he needs me to be. And I'm not sure what to do about it.'

Pomona took Minerva's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

'Minerva McGonagall, lacking the courage to do something?' she said with a playful smile. 'Not the Gryffindor we all know, is it? I know that Severus is an immensely confusing person, but whatever he wants or needs you to be, just do your best. You can't be everything for everybody, Minerva; you're only one person, and you can only do what you can do. If that's not enough for Severus, then he'll have to compromise. But we – by which I mean your friends – will always be here to help you however we can, which I hope you know.'

Minerva smiled wearily.

'Of course.' She let go of Pomona's hand with a sigh. 'It's this play, Pomona, that's what it must be. I'm not sure who or what I am anymore. I haven't even paid attention to Lady Macbeth in weeks, and yet the second I start thinking about my lines, I can't tell who I'm supposed to be thinking as…'

'All the world's a stage,' quipped Pomona, 'And all the men and women merely players: / They have their exits and their entrances, / And one man in his time plays many parts…'

'Act Five?'

'Wrong play altogether; this is _As You Like It_, that's Macbeth's "Life's but a walking shadow" speech you're thinking of,' scolded Pomona lightly as Minerva rose to her feet. 'I hope you're off to go read your script before rehearsal tonight? '

'Actually, I had thought I might go take a walk down by the lake, try to memorise some of my lines.'

'Sounds lovely. Just, Minerva?'

'Mmm?'

The words spilled out of Pomona's mouth before she even had time to process them.

'Just don't hurt that poor man unless you absolutely have to. He's been looking for someone to trust for too long, and I shudder to think of what might become of him if he can't trust even you.'

Minerva gave her a long look, then turned on her heel and headed off for the lake. Pomona wondered if she presumed too much, and said too much about what she had presumed.

* * *

Irma had decided to block the banquet scene that night, and Minerva was glad to have some easy material to work with for her first rehearsal back with everyone else. As this scene was really about Macbeth and the ghost that only he could see, most of the time was spent with everyone else seated and avidly watching Severus convincingly shout down the Bloody Baron, who played his silent role immaculately. It actually gave Minerva a bit of a rush to see how fully committed Severus was to his role; at one point, just to give the rest of the actors a sense of what their characters were witnessing at Macbeth's dinner party-gone-awry, Irma told Severus to play the scene as if the Baron were there, at which Severus rushed about through the same frantic blocking he had just learned, hurling threats at the empty air.

'Impressive,' remarked Remus to Minerva during a break, nodding with approval in Severus's direction as Irma gave the Potions Master a note. 'I almost wish I were playing Banquo's ghost as well, so I could be up there onstage with him.'

'You wouldn't deprive the Baron of his only cameo in the show, would you?' replied Minerva. 'Besides, with Severus worked up into such a passion, I wouldn't put him beyond throwing a chair in his fury, and that would damage you far more than it would an actual ghost.'

'I wouldn't want to give him the convenient excuse, either,' muttered Remus, rubbing his jaw with his hand.

'Now, Remus…'

Minerva began to admonish her younger colleague for thinking such uncharitable thoughts about Severus, but just then, Irma called her over.

'You know what you're doing here, right?' she said to Minerva, slightly frazzled. 'Basically, Lady Macbeth is the one holding this banquet together. She can't see Banquo's ghost either, but she's the only one who suspects that her husband might have just had Banquo killed. Mainly, she's mad at Macbeth for being spooked by Banquo's ghost (which she honestly believes doesn't exist) and she's terrified that his confessions aloud to the ghost are going to get them found out for having murdered the king… does that all make sense?'

'I think so?' said Minerva.

'In short, just be cross with Severus for divulging all your personal secrets, all right?'

'I think I can do that quite well,' replied Minerva, returning to her spot at the table that Dumbledore had sketched into the air for them.

And, according to Remus (spectating from the audience), she did do quite well. Minerva herself could remember very little of what had gone well or not, because she was too busy being captivated by Severus's performance; or, more likely, by the fact that the shaking, stammering being she was pulling aside to scold was so unlike the emotionless man she knew. To her, it no longer felt like she was telling off any of the incarnations of Severus Snape that she had known – this man, so uncertain and openly fearful of the world around him, was an utter stranger.

'It's really quite dynamic,' Remus opined from his seat when Irma stopped the scene to tell off Peeves for twining pieces of Filch's stringy hair around gobs of chewing gum. 'Could I mention something, though, Irma?'

'If you must,' snarled Irma as Filch clawed at his hair in fury and Peeves bounced backwards up the walls of the offices, knocking into indignant portraits and blowing raspberries at the professors below. 'Peeves, _stop that_…'

'Minerva,' said Remus, standing and walking over to her, 'you're doing an absolutely lovely job, but don't you think that Lady Macbeth's bad temper is at least in part motivated by _concern_ for her husband?'

'Well, yes, I suppose so…'

'Remember, this is a world in which people don't usually see ghosts,' Remus reminded her with a wink as he went to sit back down.

Minerva sighed and turned to find herself face-to-face with a completely neutral Severus Snape.

'Dare I ask?' he drawled in his customary voice.

'Just saying I should be more concerned about you,' said Minerva as Irma stomped back towards her amused actors. 'Correct me if I'm wrong?'

Severus raised an eyebrow, turned to start the scene again, and in a flash was gone, dissolved back into the panicked figure of Macbeth quicker than Minerva could have assumed her Animagus form. But this time, when he approached her, muttering, 'Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the olden time, / Ere human statute purged the gentle weal,' she spent a second too long wondering how to act concerned as well as irritated, and forgot where her line went.

'I'm sorry,' she muttered to Severus. 'I was trying to find a good balance between being extremely cross and extremely concerned, and then was having a hard time imagining you as Harry Potter.'

Severus shook his head, perhaps at least in part over having his Macbeth compared to Harry Potter.

'Apologies in advance Minerva, but just remember to think less and do more,' he said cryptically. And before Minerva could say anything further, Severus had seized her by the shoulders and was practically using Minerva as a support to keep his legs from collapsing under him. Minerva was half-terrified, but she had enough wits about her to take Severus's face in her hands until he wrenched himself away to confront a spectre that only he could see.

From where he sat, Remus flashed Minerva a thumbs-up. She rolled her eyes.

At long last, Irma decided that she had asked everyone else to stay for long enough, and she dismissed everyone but Minerva and Severus. Though they were in Albus's office, he apologetically went into the adjacent room to write a long letter to Cornelius Fudge about some recent crisis at the Ministry, leaving only Irma to supervise things.

'So here, all the guests have gone, and you're both exhausted,' she told Severus and Minerva, skimming her script with a furrowed brow. 'Mainly relieved, actually, for having narrowly dodged that catastrophe. Macbeth, you're still jittery; Lady Macbeth, I think you're mainly just depressed about how much less fun being queen is than you had hoped. At the beginning… all right, Minerva, if you're starting from over there, and Severus, you're over here… that's fine. Hmm.'

Minerva glanced at Severus where he sat at Albus's insubstantial dinner table. He looked very tired indeed, or perhaps he was just still embodying a bit of the character?

'Yes,' continued Irma, jotting a note down on the edge of her script with her quill. 'Minerva, if you could just go and sit at the very opposite end of the table from Severus at "Almost at odds with morning"... and here, you're really just too tired and upset to want to deal with any of whatever your husband is saying. But by "I am in blood / Stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more, / Returning were as tedious as go o'er," can you start to remember that this is as much your fault as his, and come over to him, and maybe put your arms around him?'

'I…'

'Wait, but in sort of a detached way. More sort of a cold comfort, because you both realise you've destroyed your happiness forever, and moreover haven't slept in months. Does that make any sense?'

Minerva and Severus looked at each other at almost the same time. And somehow, without either of them saying a word, a sort of tacit agreement passed between them.

'It will have blood; they say, blood will have blood…'

Severus began to speak his lines slowly. Minerva crossed to the chair opposite him, lengthwise down the table, and sat in her chair, staring at the table. But, for once, she began actually listening to what was being said, not just for her cue. And she began to understand who this man was in relationship to her character: This was a man she had once loved, but whose present paranoia and irrationality and bloodlust had brought him so far from the man she had known that she now could love only the idea of what he had been. She answered his questions in turn, and, at the appointed time, rose from the table and walked along the table, then draped her arms around the seated wizard's shoulders and felt (as her character was supposed to feel) nothing.

'You lack the season of all natures,' she said, 'sleep.'

And Minerva had no way of really knowing that it was what Severus would do next, yet it felt so natural that it was if they had discussed it. In one fluid movement, he stood and turned within the embrace of Minerva's arms, facing her with her arms still twined about his shoulders. His face was weary, although it cracked a sad smile as he gently ran the tips of his fingers down the line of Minerva's jaw, as though it were a gesture he had done regularly for the past decade.

'Come,' he said quietly, pulling her towards him so that her face rested against his shoulder and his cheek pressed against her hair, 'we'll to sleep. My strange and self-abuse / Is the initiate fear that wants hard use: / We are yet but young in deed.'

The moment held for an instant longer than perhaps it needed to, and in that infinitesimal gap of time longer than the scene required, Minerva felt something seismic shift within her. When Severus released her, he turned straight towards Irma and awaited her directorial opinion.

'That was…' Irma raised her eyebrows with an impressed smile. 'Whatever that was, do it again. I'll take it. And I… no, I don't think I need to see that again. I'm sure we'll tweak it in the future, but that's all I'll need for tonight. Thank you both…'

Severus and Minerva left the Headmaster's Office without saying a word to each other, or even looking at each other. Nothing passed between them but the few synchronised steps they took on the cobblestone floors of the corridors, until they somehow both stopped at the juncture where they normally would have said goodnight before parting ways.

'Severus,' said Minerva suddenly, 'I… I just wanted to thank you for trusting me enough to let whatever happened back there happen.'

'Funny,' replied Severus, 'I was going to say the same to you.'

'Oh! Excellent, then.' Minerva hesitated. 'It's just, I was rather afraid I would let you down horribly…'

'Minerva…'

'Because you're so incredibly committed to this, Severus, and it really shows, you're doing such an impressive job…'

'_Minerva_…'

'And… and I guess I'm just so relieved and so _happy_ to have been able to step outside my comfort zone long enough to have made that moment there work for us.'

Severus smiled.

'Yes, you did,' he said, and then he kissed her again.

Minerva's first impulse was to resist – _this was getting too complicated_ – but then Pomona's words returned to her – _Just don't hurt that poor man unless you absolutely have to_ – and… oh, she had forgotten how pleasant it was to be kissed like this, really. Her body relaxed, and she voluntarily wound her arms around Severus's neck, where she had placed them only a few minutes before for the sake of theatre. When he pulled away a moment later, somewhat stunned at his own audacity, she was the one who breathed, 'Don't stop,' and pulled him back to her.

'You have no idea,' he murmured in her ear, 'just how long I've wanted to do that.'

'I'm sure I don't,' she sighed into his shoulder, her breath catching slightly as he began to trail a slow line of kisses from her ear down to her collarbone. 'Severus, we're in the middle of a corridor! Shouldn't we at least…'

'Find a classroom, like naughty schoolchildren?' smirked Severus into the base of her neck.

'Perish the thought. I believe my office is closer?'

In retrospect, Minerva could not quite figure out how she and Severus managed to make it back to her office without losing all self-restraint first. No sooner had she locked the door than there was Severus behind her, breathing into her increasingly-mussed hair, his hands wrapping around her, turning her round so that they could better help each other out of their robes between kisses that left them both breathless and hungry for more. That they awoke the next morning tangled in each other's limbs on the rug next to the dying ashes of the fire was perhaps an indication that their feelings for each other had been suppressed for too long and had erupted with more reckless passion than might have been desired.

'Merlin,' groaned Minerva, stretching out a cramp in her neck where she had slept on it at a funny angle. 'Next time, we'll have to at least make it to the bedroom. I assure you, my pillows are far more comfortable than this rug.'

Severus rolled over, still half-asleep.

'At least you have the good sense to keep your office warm,' he mumbled. 'Would have been dreadful waking up in the freezing cold next to a dead fire.'

'Says the man who keeps his dungeons at glacial temperatures,' scoffed Minerva, locating her glasses so that she could better figure out where her robes had been scattered throughout the room. When she had collected most of her clothes, she turned to see Severus watching her like a hawk from where he was half-reclining on her rug.

'What?' she said, feeling suddenly extremely self-conscious.

Severus looked as if he were about to say something, then shrugged slightly instead and turned to look at the fire. Minerva tossed Severus his robes and pulled her own clothes on haphazardly.

'Would you care for some tea?' she said awkwardly, tapping the kettle on the table next to her desk.

'No, thank you,' said Severus, clambering to his feet.

'Oh.' Minerva glanced at the clock on her wall; half past nine. 'Well, I don't have anywhere to be, any time soon, so feel free to stay…'

But just then, the dying embers in Minerva's grate flared green.

'Minerva? It's Remus,' called the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor's slightly distressed voice from the fireplace. 'If you're able, could I have a word with you some time in the near future? Thanks…'

The flames in the grate simmered back down to gray ash. Minerva strode towards the fireplace, and Severus seized her hand.

'I'm not rushing off right now, Severus,' she said impatiently, taking a pinch of Floo powder from her own mantel and tossing it into the embers. 'I'll stop by this afternoon, Remus,' she called into the ensuing green burst of fire.

Severus was still holding her hand lightly when the flames died down again. Minerva knew he would not have protested if she withdrew it, but she did not, and something caught in her throat when he drew her hand up to his cheek and simply held it there. In a strange way, Minerva thought, such a simple, oddly romantic gesture was far more intimate than sex had been.

'Is that how you are with other professors?' he asked quietly. 'Dropping in for casual chats, and so forth?'

'Not all of them. Some of them.'

'You never have with me.'

'I did,' countered Minerva. 'I overstayed my welcome by an hour yesterday.'

'Against your will, because you had no choice,' said Severus, with a smile that was slightly too gentle to be called a smirk. 'And I'm sure it was nothing like your visits with Lupin and the rest.'

Minerva pushed a strand of hair from Severus's face, catching it behind his ear.

'Of course not,' she said. 'For one thing, I think Remus Lupin would face down a gaggle of Hagrid's most irritable Hippogriffs wandless before he thought of kissing me, or trying anything else.'

Severus looked as though he wanted to smile, but his impulse faltered.

'I should go.'

'If you must,' replied Minerva. 'I… I suppose I shall see you soon?'

'In some capacity or another, I'm sure,' said Severus, and he kissed her once more before he pulled away. An odd air of formality fell slowly between them.

'Well, until then,' said Minerva uncertainly, just as the tea kettle began to whistle. By the time she had turned it off, she was sorry to see that Severus had gone, and she felt more confused than ever.

To be fair, Severus felt equally confused and frustrated with things as they stood. His only consolations were that Minerva seemed at the worst confused (not repulsed or disturbed) by everything that had just happened… and that, unless his ears had deceived him in his half-awake state, she had alluded to a 'next time' when they would hopefully wake up on her bed rather than on the rug next to the fireplace.


End file.
